


A Very Good Place To Start

by oakleaf_bearer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Gen, Set in Season 1, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5, Time Travel Fix-It, but jon becomes very season 2 jon very quickly, hot jon rights, martins living in the archives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oakleaf_bearer/pseuds/oakleaf_bearer
Summary: Statement begins.In 2016, Jonathan Sims is the head archivist of the Magnus Institute, and nothing more.-in an attempt to stop the apocalypse, jon goes back in time to 2016in 2016, the og archives crew are very confused why there's a doppelgänger of jon running around
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 751
Kudos: 1314





	1. Chapter 1

_ " Statement begins. _

_ "In 2016, Jonathan Sims is the head archivist of the Magnus Institute, and nothing more. He does not yet know the taste of fear. He knows the feeling of it, of course. The crawling, twisting dread that lies just under his skin and waits for him to feel safe and secure before it strikes. He has been afraid plenty of times. He's seen what dangers are out in the world, and he is terrified. He still lies awake some nights, filled with the memory of eight, spindly legs reaching out towards its prey.  _

_ He hates that fear.  _

_ He has not yet learned how intoxicating it truly is.  _

_ He sits at his desk and records statements and pats himself on the back thinking he has done a good job categorising the terror of this stranger. He tucks away the tape, carefully labelled, not knowing what it is he is feeding. He complains about the state if the archives and curses its former keeper for letting it fall into disarray and does not understand why she was so meticulous in her chaos.  _

_ He has others to help him. A woman, more qualified than he is for his own role. She is diligent and hardworking, and he takes her work and her face for granted. She is not yet a stranger. She is not yet forgotten.  _

_ The second is a man, full of regret. He blames himself for so much and he throws himself into his work to try and mask it. He wears smiles and he laughs and he does not let on how much he hates the sound of circus music.  _

_ The third is a man who he has not yet learned to love. He brings him tea, careful and caring, and he does not expect thanks. He expects nothing. One day, he will slip away, so cold and alone in the fog, and he will not expect any one to miss him.  _

_ The Archivist sits in the office that was once his. He had forgotten the feel of the chair. It is old and fraying, and he can feel the piece of plastic that always dug into his back. It is a relic of a place that he can no longer call his own. This is not his domain. This place has not yet earned the stench of the end of everything. This place still resides in the world that once was." _

A pause. 

_ "You do not belong here, Archivist. Leave, before you cannot." _

There was a shaky exhale, and the voice changed, intense theatrics dropping away in favour of a tired, quiet resignation. 

_ " Statement ends. "  _

**2016**

The tape clicked off. 

A long silence followed, loud and tangible, stretching on for far too long before Jon leant back in his chair, letting out a long exhale that sounded far too similar to the one on the tape. 

"Well then." His voice sounded raw, stripped back of his usual bravado. "I think it's safe to say that that was.... quite something."

"And you didn't record that?"

He let out a derisive laugh. "I rather think I'd recall doing that, Martin. No, that was not me." 

Sasha hummed. She tapped her finger against her mug, her ring making a small clicking sound. "What do you think it was referring to? Intoxicating fear?" 

"It sounds almost poetic." Martin said, then caught himself. "I mean, not poetic, just, I don't know, artistic?" 

"No, I see what you mean." Sasha leant over Jon to steal a piece of paper from the stack on his desk. She scribbled down key parts of the statement. 

"Maybe we've found your voice double." Tim joked. His tone was light, but it sounded forced. His smile faltered as Jon looked at him. 

"Perhaps. I doubt it though. You said you just found this on your desk?" 

"Yeah. At first I thought you'd left me a statement to research or transcribe, but then I listened to it and, well," He waved a hand at the tape. "You heard it." 

"Indeed." Jon mused. "Thank you, Tim." 

"Do you think it could be linked to that table? The one from Amy Patel's statement?" 

"Possibly. I'd like to compile a bit more research before I make any hypothesis about what it could be."

"I'll check over my notes to see if anything like this has come up before." 

"I could have a look in document storage?" Martin offered. 

"Good idea." Sasha stood up straighter. 

Jon pulled the tape recorder towards himself. "Right. As strange as this mystery is, it's time to get back to work."

-

Sasha rolled her chair over to Tim's desk. 

"Want to talk about it?"

Tim looked up at her. His eyes were tired. "Not particularly. You?"

"Nope." She threw her legs over his knees. "Drinks tonight?" 

"Absolutely. We should invite Martin."

Sasha hummed. "And Jon. He went through it too today." 

"Think he'll come?"

"Who knows. It's worth a shot though."

The door to the assistants office opened and Martin came in carrying an old camera, muttering to himself. He dropped it on his desk. 

"Alright there?" Tim asked.

Martin looked up, startled. "Oh, hi. Sorry. I uh, I had an idea." 

Sasha sat forward. "Go on." 

He fidgeted. "Well, that thing left the tape in the office, right? That means it had to come in here. I was thinking, and I remembered that I saw this old camera in one of the store cupboards. I figured, if that thing could be picked up on tape, we might be able to get it on camera too." 

Tim and Sasha were silent for a moment. 

"That's... actually a really good idea. Good job, Martin." Tim pushed Sasha's legs off his knees. "Where should we set it up?" 

Martin grinned at the unexpected praise. "I was thinking one of the shelves. We can tuck it back a bit so that it doesn't see it." 

"Good plan." Sasha stood and crossed to the shelves. She pushed one of the boxes to the side. "From here it should have a view of the whole office." 

"Martin, come stay at mine tonight. Me and Sasha are having drinks, it'll be good for you to get out of the archives for a night." 

"Oh! Are you sure?"

Sasha looped an arm around his shoulder. "Absolutely. Come on, let's go."

They gathered their bags. Martin paused to click on the camera. On the way past Jon's office, Sasha knocked and stuck her head inside. He was still hunched over his desk, tape recorder clutched in his hand. "Jon. We are all going to Tim's for drinks. Want to come?" 

He looked up at her, frowning. "No, thank you, Sasha." 

For a moment, she considered insisting, telling him to go home and not work so hard. 

"Have a good night, Jon." 

She turned away. Martin and Tim were waiting in the hallway for her. At her arrival, Martin looked over her shoulder with a hopeful expression. 

"No luck. Sorry guys." 

"Ah well." Tim shrugged. "All the more to go around. Come on, let's go drink until we forget we ever got jobs here." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: jon has a brief panic attack, it's not graphic, but i thought it best to give a heads up

Jon was already in his office by the time they got into work. The door was shut, but the rumble of his voice drifted through the wood. Martin sat at his desk, wincing. He had crashed on Tim's sofa and it had left his back sore. 

"Bets on what he's going to be like today?" Tim 

"My money is on grumpy." Sasha hummed. 

"That's not a bet, that's an observation." Tim pointed a pen at her. "I bet he's not going to mention what happened yesterday." 

"I'll take you up on that." Sasha agreed. "I think it'll be the first thing he says." 

"Loser buys the first round next pub trip?"

"Naturally." 

Martin snorted at their exchange. They often made bets centred around life in the archives, usually ending in something that had little effect. Martin joined in sometimes, but often he was simply happy to watch the chaos unfold. 

They fell into an easy rhythm, each filtering off to do their own work. The quiet was pleasant. It was comfortable, enough so that Martin could almost forget all the insane things that had happened. On the way into work, they had seen several of the shiny silver worms that were so prevalent in Martin's dreams. 

He fetched a file from one of the boxes and set to work making notes and follow up emails. 

Jon appeared in the doorway to his office. "Ah, good, you're all here. Today, I think the primary concern is the tape." Sasha shot a triumphant look over at Tim, who stuck his tongue out at her. "We need to figure out who made it." 

"I did a bit of digging last night." Sasha pulled out her notes. "There's plenty in folklore about creatures that can mimic voices. Crocattas mimic the voice of someone known to the victim to lure them into a trap, but that doesn't really seem applicable here. Same with Leshies, which lure people into caves, but they are usually in forests. And I don't feel like we were being lured towards anything. It almost felt like a warning." 

"An omen." Martin said. 

"Exactly." 

"Possession is a possibility. Maybe something took hold of Jon and made him record the statement and then forget it." Tim tapped his chin with the end of his pen, thoughtfully. 

Jon frowned. "I'm hesitant to say it was anything supernatural until there's no other possible explanations. People can do impressions of voices perfectly fine without the assistance of anything..." He searched for the word. "Paranormal." 

"Right." Sasha said, sounding unconvinced.

"Besides, it could've just been a trick of the audio. I'll look more into it." With that, he vanished back into his office, shutting the door with a resounding click. 

A beat of silence passed. 

"Well then." Tim clapped his hands. "Back to work, I guess." 

-

It was almost lunchtime before any of them remembered.

Sasha sat up straighter, slamming her pen down. 

Martin jumped. "You alright?" 

"The camera! I almost forgot." Sasha pulled it down off the shelf. 

Martin stood, abandoning his file. "Think it caught anything?" 

Sasha pulled the card out of the camera and slotted it into her laptop. "Only one way to find out." She fired up the video software and pressed play. She set it to fast forward, letting the video tick forward. 

"And they say cinema isn't thrilling anymore." Tim joked, watching the empty archives on the screen. Martin pulled up his chair and sat, leaning forward on his elbows. 

The picture didn't change, until, eventually, Jon's office door opened and he wandered out, bag over his shoulder and coat in hand. Sasha stopped the fast forward, letting it play at regular speed, and they watched him leave. 

"Did he leave at 10?" Martin huffed. "He needs to stop doing that." 

"He has always overworked. We've tried to get him to stop plenty of times." Tim said. 

"Still, it's not healthy. He used to sleep here." 

"Trust me, Martin. If it was possible to get him to stop, we would've." 

Sasha jumped in her seat. "Wait, wait, stop. Look." Martin looked back to the screen. 

On the screen, a figure stood in the doorway holding a mug, a notebook tucked under their arm. 

"Jon! Come here! We've got something!" Tim shouted over his shoulder. 

The figure stepped further into the room, placing the notebook and mug on the corner of Martin's desk. 

"What's this?" Jon's voice came from behind Martin. 

"We set up a camera to see if we could catch the intruder. This is from last night." Sasha explained, not taking her eyes off the screen. 

"Hmm. Good work, Sasha."

"It was Martin's idea."

"Oh." Jon sounded surprised. "Well. Good work, Martin." 

The figure looked around the room. Their hair was long, obscuring their face from the camera. 

"Come on, turn around you ghostly bastard." Tim muttered. 

"I don't think they can hear you, Tim." Sasha laughed. 

As if trying to prove her point, the figure turned their back to the camera and moved towards Jon's office. It fished in one of the pockets of its coat and pulled out a key. In one smooth move, it unlocked the door and vanished into the office. After a moment, they reappeared holding a statement file. They sat down at Martin's desk, tucking their legs under them. They flipped open the file, carefully scanning the pages. 

They pulled out a piece of paper and started making notes, scribbling down things as they read. Occasionally, they took a sip from their mug, 

The sound of the door to the archives came through the speakers. The figure's head snapped up. They dropped the file on the desk and stood, hurrying to the doorway, ducking behind the open door just in time as Jon stepped into the office.

The assistants turned to Jon. He was standing very still. 

"I came in last night to get one of the files. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I would've noticed if anyone else was there. I would've seen."

They turned back to the screen. On it, Jon crossed to the open door of his office. He paused, looking at the door before stepping inside. He came back out, an angry look on his face. He looked around the office. 

"It was on your desk." Jon whispered as his on screen counterpart crossed to Martin's desk and picked up the file. The audio picked up muttering of 'useless ass'. "I thought you had moved it." 

Jon left the office, file tucked under his arm, and the figure stepped out from behind the door. It watched him walk away down the corridor, and turned back towards the office. It picked up its mug, taking one last cursory glance around the office. As it did so, it's hair slipped away from its face. 

Tim scrambled for the pause button. 

Martin felt his blood chill. Behind him came the sound of Jon stumbling backwards, crashing into Tim's desk. 

On the screen, the flickering face of Jonathan Sims stared out at them. 

Martin had spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to steal glances at Jon, trying to commit the exact shade of his eyes or the curve of his cheekbone onto paper. This stranger was almost a perfect copy. His hair was longer and more grey, and his face was littered with small, round scars, but it was unmistakably Jon. 

Martin turned back to Jon, the real Jon. He was clutching the edge of Tim's desk, one hand over his mouth, knuckles white. His chest heaved with unsteady breaths. 

Martin was on his feet and in front of Jon before he realised he was moving. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Come on, sit down."

He took Jon by the shoulders and manoeuvred him to sit in the chair Martin had just vacated and crouched down in front of him. 

"Jon, I need you to breathe. In, out. Here, with me. In." Martin took a deep breath through his nostrils. "Out." He exhaled. 

He repeated that motion a few times until Jon's panicked stare fixed on him and he joined in, taking deep, unsteady breaths in time with Martin. Slowly, his white-knuckle grip on the chairs arms loosened, and he slumped back. Martin stroked a hand down his arm, carefully smoothing out the last remaining bits of tension. 

"First the tape, now this? Boss, do you have a secret twin?" His tone was light, but Martin could tell it was forced.

"I think the point of a secret twin is the he wouldn't know." Sasha was thoughtful. "Do you think it's malicious?" 

"I don't think so? It didn't attack Jon."

Jon flinched suddenly, startling Martin. "The notebook." His voice was hoarse. 

"What?"

"The notebook." He pointed to Martin's desk. "It left it." 

Martin turned to look at his desk. On the corner, partially covered by the papers he had put down that morning, sat the notebook. 

Tim stood and crossed over to Martin's desk. 

"Careful. It might be a Leitner." Sasha called out. 

"Right." Tim fished a pencil out of the small pot on the desk, ignoring Martin's protests. Gingerly, he flipped open the front cover. "There isn't a bookplate. It might be safe." 

He turned the next page and paused. "Uh, is this the right one?" 

"Yes. Why?" Sasha came around the desk next to him. "Oh! That's weird." 

"What?"

"Well, it's your handwriting, Martin." 

"What?!" He stood, leaning over Sasha's shoulder. With Tim and Sasha already huddled around the end of the desk, Martin couldn't get a good enough angle to be able to read the words, but he still recognised his own writing. 

"What does it say?" Jon's voice was steadier, but only barely. 

"Well, it, uh, I think it's a journal or something." Sasha glanced up at him. 

"But it's.. well, it's not... recent?"

"What does that mean?" Jon pushed himself out his chair, some of his usual abrasive charm returning. 

"The first entry is from 15th February 2018." 

"What? That's two years away. What does the entry say?" 

Tim taped the pencil on the edge of the notebook thoughtfully. "You're not gonna like it, Jon." 

"Tell me." 

Tim glanced at Sasha, cleared his throat, and read. "'Jon woke up today.' That's it, that's all it says. One sentence." 

Jon gripped the corner of the desk. "Show me." 

Tim pushed the book towards him. Jon stared down at the page. He didn't say anything, but his breathing was forcefully steady, the tense line of his shoulders the only indication that he felt anything at all towards the notebook. 

Eventually, he stood, snatching up the notebook, and marched towards his office. The wall shook slightly as he slammed the door, and the assistants were left staring, wide eyed, at the space he had occupied. 

-

Tim trailed back to the archives, lunch in hand. On the way past the break room, he dropped the takeaway boxes on the table, waving hello to Martin, who was fishing several mugs out of the cupboard. 

Tim headed deeper into the archives in search of Sasha. The mornings events had left something of a damper on the archives as a whole, and they had each stayed mostly silent since they had happened. Tim hoped lunch would help lighten the mood. 

He slowed as he approached the offices, and leant on the doorframe in a mock imitation of a flirty stance.

"Hey kid, can I treat you to lunch?" He said in a terrible impression of an old hollywood accent. 

Sasha looked up at him, cheeks wet. 

"Sasha? You good?" Tim dropped the persona and crossed the room. 

In her hands, she held the notebook, the journal they had found on Martin's desk that morning. "I thought I would look through it, see if I was mentioned." She said, damply. "Stupid curiosity." 

"I take you were?" 

She nodded. 

"Is it bad?" 

Her voice shook as she read. "Jon had a nightmare last night. He said Sasha's name. I think he remembers her. The real her, not the version that I see whenever I think about her. Not that twisted, horrifying  thing down in the tunnels. 

I wonder what she looked like sometimes. I don't want to ask Jon, I think it would trouble him too much. It can't be easy being one of the only two people in the whole world who remembers her." Tim reached out to grasp her free hand. Sasha squeezed back. "I still try sometimes. I know it's pointless, but I try. I would miss her, but I don't know if it's possible to miss someone you may as well have never met."

She trailed off. She stared down at the page, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. 

"That's fucked up." Tim felt ridiculous saying it, but it was true. 

She laughed, a damp, harsh noise, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. If this actually is Martin's weird attempt at a creative writing exercise or something, then I think he and I are going to have some words." 

"Yeah. Same with Jon." 

"Martin's not the type to pull pranks, and I don't know if Jon knows what a prank is." 

Tim snorted. "You might be right there." 

Jon's door slammed open with too much force. He stalked into the room, and stared at Sasha and Tim, and unreadable expression on his face. 

"Where's Martin?" 

Tim pointed to the door. "Break room. He's making tea, I think." 

"Martin! Get in here." Jon shouted. 

Tim frowned at Sasha. He'd known Jon for several years, but he'd never seen him this tense, even when Elias had asked him to become the archivist. 

Martin poked his head through the door. "Yes?" 

"Sit." 

"I-okay." Martin sat, awkwardly. "Is everything okay, Jon?" 

"No, Martin, everything's not okay. Something is walking around pretending to be me." Jon spat. "I intend to stop it." 

"How?" Tim leant forward.

"It's going to come back to the archives. I'll be here, ready."

"When?"

"Tonight." 

"Are you even sure if it's going to come back tonight?" Martin asked. 

"It is. I just know." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> area man accidentally stalks past version of himself, more at 7 
> 
> i bought a bunch of very gay clothes today, so now i'm on my way to steal your girl 
> 
> ty to elsie, who beta read this chapter


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for this chapter: 
> 
> -jon attacks his future self, and martin literally has to haul him off to stop him from going too far  
> -i used the word 'it' to describe future!jon, simply bc the assistants don't know if he's human yet, from here on out it will be he/him or they/them for future!jon  
> -jon is very season 2 here  
> -itty bitty blink-and-you-miss-it amount of angst about jon missing martin, but dw that'll get resolved soon

"Ow, Tim, you're on my foot." 

"Sorry, Sash." Tim shifted, trying to move his weight off of Sasha. She hissed and shoved him gently. The motion took him by surprise and he giggled slightly. 

Jon shushed them aggressively. Tim stuck out his tongue at Sasha, who returned the expression, but they both fell silent. 

The group was huddled around the door to Jon's office, peering through a crack in the door into the office proper. Jon has huffed when they said they were staying to wait for the doppelgänger with him, but he'd conceded grumpily when Sasha had pointed out that Jon might not be able to overpower his double on his own. Even then, Tim thought, he was still grouchy about having company. More rude and abrasive than was really necessary, but Tim couldn't find it in himself to be surprised anymore. 

The door to the archives creaked open. Tim felt Jon tense next to him. Through the crack in the door, he watched the doppelgänger walk into the office. 

It crossed straight over to Martin's desk and started rifling through the things on it. After a long minute of looking under the small pile of file folders and the assortments of notes, it stood back, throwing its hands up. 

"Shit, Martin." It spoke in Jon's voice. More grumbled, mostly under its breath. It examined the room, hands on its hips. "Messiest desk in the world, but the day you decide to tidy it-" 

It sighed deeply and ran a scarred hand through its hair. It spoke again, this time with a tired imitation of playful exasperation. "Well, Jon, if you hadn't left it behind in the first place- yeah, yeah, I know." It huffed. "God, I miss you." 

It went quiet for a moment, one hand trailing along Martin's desk, before it let out a small laugh. 

"Oh good, Jon, now you're talking to yourself. You've finally snapped." 

Jon lurched forward and yanked open the door, knocking Sasha to the ground with a yelp. 

The doppelgänger span around, eyes wide and wild. Jon thrust the notebook out. "Looking for this?" 

Tim stumbled out of the office, grabbing onto Jon's shoulder to try and pull him back towards the meagre sanctuary it offered. 

The doppelgänger looked at them, deer in headlights. Slowly, it raised its hands. 

"Listen," Jon flinched again at the sound of its voice. "I can explain." 

Jon barked out a harsh laugh. "Can you?" 

Sasha came out of the office. The doppelgänger stopped, staring at her, a confused look on his face. 

"What do you want?" She demanded, staring it down. 

It's eyes widened. 

"Sasha..." It breathed. 

Jon's shoulder shook under Tim's hand. He tightened his grip. "Answer the question." 

It stared owlishly at Tim, unblinking. 

"I'm so sorry." 

It dove for the notebook, snatching it out of Jon's hand, and barrelled towards the door. Martin reached for it, catching its sleeve, causing it to stumble. It recovered quickly, ducking out of reach and through the door. 

Jon shrugged out of Tim's grip and shoved past Martin. He raced down the corridor, pursuing the intruder deeper into the archives. 

Tim followed, Sasha close behind him. He could hear Martin sputtering indignantly, but following anyway. 

The doppelgänger ducked between the shelves. 

Tim split off, tracking back slightly and running down a different row of shelves. He  leapt over a strewn box just as the double rounded the corner. They collided. Tim grabbed its shoulders out of reflex. They were thin and boney, far too frail under his grasp. It wrestled, trying to worm its way out. Tim took a step backwards, trying to brave against the onslaught. As he did, his foot met a loose piece of paper and he slipped, tumbling down and dragging the doppelgänger with him. 

It yelped. Tim's grip loosened enough for it to struggle away from him, but as it did so, Jon careened around the corner. He nearly collided with his copy as it struggled to its feet. He reached out and grasped the back of its shirt, hauling it upwards by the collar. 

Jon slammed it into the shelves. It's head cracked against one, the painful sound reverberating slightly in the cramped space. It tried to shove him back, but Jon wrapped his hands around its throat. 

"Who are you?" The doubles hands grabbed at Jon's fingers, trying to loosen his grip. 

Tim scrambled to his feet. 

"Jon, let go!" Tim grabbed Jon's shoulder, trying to pull him off. He loosened one hand, using it to push Tim away. 

"Tell me!" His voice cracked, white-hot anger seeping into his words. 

Martin stepped up behind Jon, wrapped an arm around his middle, and hauled him back. "Stop it! You're going to kill him!" 

Jon trashed in his grip, trying to wrestle free. Tim stepped in front of him, planting himself between both Jons. 

The doppelgänger doubled over, gasping for breath. 

"Who are you?" Tim hoped his voice sounded steady. 

The man looked up at him, breathing heavily. 

"The Archivist. Jonathan Sims." 

A commotion came from behind Tim. Jon wrenched in Martin's grip again. Tim grasped the front of his shirt and turned back to the man claiming to be Jon. 

"No, you're not. This is Jonathan Sims." 

"I am." The doubles voice was hoarse, a scratchy sound drawn out with a raspy breath. "I'm from the future. I'm here to stop the end of the world." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not used to writing action so this was a bit out of my wheelhouse, but i really enjoyed it 
> 
> the next chapter is going to feature less violence but more angst


	4. Chapter 4

Jon was feeling mutinous. 

This double, this doppelgänger, was sitting on a chair in the centre of the break room, wearing Jon's face, speaking in Jon's voice, and acting like he had any right to any of it. 

"Right, okay." The stranger fidgeted in his chair. "I don't really know where to start." 

"How about the time travel?" Tim sounded incredulous.

"Hmm. Yes."

Jon scoffed. The lie was barely believable before this pointless charade, now it was downright laughable. 

Sasha gave him a placating look. "How far in the future are you from?" 

The double blinked at her, an unreadable expression on its face. "It's hard to say. Time didn't work the same after the end of the world." 

"Okay, I'm going to pretend that's not one of the coolest sentences I've ever heard." Tim said. "When did the world end?" 

"October 2018." 

Jon frowned. "You expect us to believe that I became..." he gestured at the double, at the scars and the frail limbs. "This, in two years?"

"It was a very long two years." 

"Shall I make tea?" Martin stood suddenly. 

"No." Jon cut off his offer. 

The other Jon looked up at Martin with a soft expression. "I would love some tea, Martin." 

"Oh, okay, I'll just-" 

"Sit down, Martin." Jon knew he was too harsh, but this imposter didn't deserve any of their hospitality. Certainly not Martin's tea. 

Martin sat. 

The imposter looked at Jon, annoyed. It was almost a perfect copy of the expression Jon knew was plastered on his face. Jon crossed his arms. 

"Do you have any proof? If you're me from the-" Jon couldn't bring himself to play into this ridiculous fantasy. "What proof do you have?" 

The doppelgänger looked down at their lap. "Mr Spider." 

Jon froze. He felt his blood drain from his face as a familiar fear crawled its way up his spine. 

"How do you know about that?" 

The double looked up at him. For possibly the first time since he had appeared, his eyes met Jon's. 

It didn't feel like looking in a mirror and seeing your reflection. It felt like being seen. Seen. Like all of his flaws were being drawn out and hung up on display for people to come and study. Like his soul was being sucked out of him through that stare and being consumed by something just out of his peripheral vision. 

"I know because it's my memory too. I am you, Jon." 

Jon shook his head. At least, he tried. The movement came out jerky and stiff. 

"No. It's impossible. Time travel isn't possible." 

"A whole host of things you once thought impossible are about to be proved possible. I'm sorry, but it doesn't get any better from here." 

"Who's Mr Spider?" Tim asked. The double looked away from Jon, the eye contact breaking. The sensation of suddenly being Unseen was dizzying and left Jon reeling. 

"I'm not going to say anything he doesn't want me to say." He gestured at Jon. "It might be my past, but it's his too." 

"What happened to you?" Sasha was gentle, too gentle. "Where did all the scars come from?" 

He looked at her, not quite making eye contact. "Like I said, it's been a long two years."

"Those are from worms." Martin sounded so quiet. "Like Prentiss." 

The other Jon looked heartbroken as he glanced over at Martin. "Yes. They were the first." 

"Are you like her?" 

"No. Not like Prentiss." 

"What about us?" Tim asked, slowly. "What happened to the rest of us?" 

The doppelgänger looked between them, examining their faces. "I'm sorry, I-" He cut off and seemed to search for the right words. "You both died." 

Tim looked at him, a hard expression on his face. "How?"

"Tim-" 

"How, Jon?" 

"The Circus." He answered. "You were avenging Danny." 

Tim stared at him, expression dangerously blank. Sasha reached out to take his hand, but he flinched away. 

"What about me?" She asked. 

The double stared up at her. "You were replaced. None of us knew. Sasha, I'm so sorry-" 

"You all forgot what I looked like. You forgot me." 

He blinked. "How-"

Sasha stood and crossed over to where the notebook sat on the table. "This says you had a nightmare and you said my name." 

"Does it?" 

"You don't know?"

"It's Martin's journal. I've never read it." 

Martin let out a small squeak. 

Jon sat forward. "Why do you have Martin's journal?" 

The double took the notebook out of Sasha's hands. He traced the edge of the pages with a fingertip. "He was getting something out of his bag. This was in the way, so he gave me it to hold. I should've slowed down, stopped walking, made sure he was behind me. But I didn't, and then when I realised he wasn't there it was too late."

"So Martin's dead?" Tim said it a touch too harshly, still not looking at any of them. 

"No. He can't be. I refuse to-" He cut himself off. "Martin has to be alive. If he isn't, then all of this will have been pointless. I might save the world, but I can't do it without him." The other Jon spoke with such conviction, desperate determination seeping into his words, darkening the edges of his voice. 

Jon tried to tamp down the part of his brain that had poured over every word in the notebook, absorbing the words written there until it had become too much and he'd let Sasha tug it out of his hands and squirrel it away in the other room. 

He leant forward and placed a hand on the notebook. The double flinched, fingers tightening around the spine. 

Jon stared at him, forcing himself to meet his eyes. The same sickening intensity swept over him, but he held firm. 

Slowly, the grasp on the book loosened enough for Jon to pull it towards himself. He flipped it open, searching for the page that he knew held the photograph he had repressed the urge to burn. He pulled it out and handed it wordlessly to the double, who took it. 

Their hands trembled, fingers pressing indentations into the edge as they stared down at it. 

The picture was a shiny polaroid, clearly taken with a cheap, grainy camera. In it, the other Jon was hunched over, arms wrapped around the shoulders of a smiling Martin, planting a kiss to his cheek. 

The version in the photograph was nothing like the real Martin. His curls looked softer, his face rounder. His shoulders slumped in a way that made him look smaller than his frame truly allowed, and his smile was an awkward, polite thing clearly born from uncertainty and self doubt. 

This Martin was smiling in an easy, familiar way, frozen in the middle of a laugh, one hand gripping Jon's arm, holding him close. His curls were still soft, but they held a tinge of white at the ends, and the lines around his eyes looked tired. 

Jon remembered the way his hands had shook as he found it. He'd considered burning it, pulling out his lighter and letting the flame engulf it until there was no record of it left. 

His future selfs hands shook too, as he clutched the photograph like it was a lifeline. 

His eyes met Jon's again. "Thank you." 

Jon looked away. 

"How did the world end?" Sasha looked like she was itching to take notes. 

"That's a very long story. The gist of it is that I was manipulated into completing a ritual that bought fourteen entities, being at feed off of terror and fear, into our world." 

Jon felt like he was going to fall out of his chair. Tim almost did. 

"Wait, hold on," Tim held out a hand. "You ended the world?" 

The Other Jon nodded. "It was an accident." 

"How do you end the world on accident?" Martin asked, bewildered. 

"Like I said, I was manipulated." 

"By who?" 

The double paused. "Jonah Magnus." 

"As in the guy who founded the Institute?" Tim almost shouted. 

Other Jon nodded. "I'm afraid so. Like I said, it's very long story. He needed someone marked by each of the Fourteen Fears to bring about a ritual to end life as we know it and summon the fears into our world to feed off humanities terror."

"And that was you." Sasha pointed at him. 

"It was. The Archivist." He scoffed. "A catalogue of human terror. A walking scrapbook of everything humanity is afraid of." 

"How did you become this?" 

"It's already begun. 

Jon stood, shoving his chair back. "I need some air."

"Jon, wait," Sasha reached out to him. He shrugged her off. 

"No. I'll be back in a minute." 

With that, he stormed out of the room. He barely made it to the stairs out of the archives before his knees gave out. He hit the floor, gasping for breaths, fingers scrabbling against the rough carpet. Between sobs, he heard a click. He looked up. Balanced a few steps up sat a tape recorder, passively listening to his breakdown, recording his pain. 

He snatched the thing up and threw it against the wall, shattering the fragile plastic. Small fragments went flying. 

He sank against the wall, knees up to his chest. 

He ran out of tears before he became aware of another person near him, leaning against the wall opposite. He looked up. 

The other Jon was sat, position mirroring his own. Jon stared at the scars littering his arms and face, the ugly, twisted burn on one palm, the gash on his throat. 

"Catalogue is literal isn't it?" 

The double nodded. 

"Fuck." 

They gave him a half smile. "That's one of the reasons I want to stop it from happening. Besides stopping the apocalypse." 

Jon stared at him, at the version of himself that had ended the world. The version that had let Sasha and Tim die, that had left Martin behind. 

"How do we stop it?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's very late at night rn so i'm probably going to come back and read this in the morning and hate it


	5. Chapter 5

The older Jon insisted they all get some sleep before he explained anything more. The assistants resisted, but it was clear Jon was too worn out to talk more. What ever had happened in the corridor, it had taken the fight out of him. He retreated into his office, door firmly closed behind him. 

The future version of Jon vanished to rifle through a storage cupboard, leaving the assistants awkwardly standing in the break room. 

"Well then," Sasha said. "That's new." 

"Time travel." Tim said, a grin spreading on his face. "Awesome." 

Martin busied himself making tea, pulling four mugs from the cupboard. He paused, hand hovering over a fifth mug, before pulling it out and placing it next to the others. He silently went about his process, putting the teabags into the cups and boiling the kettle. 

Time approached him, gently holding out a hand. "Martin? You good?" 

He startled, nearly dropping his teaspoon. "Oh! Sorry, yes, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." 

"Martin, we are allowed to worry about you. We are your friends." 

He blushed furiously, ears turning bright red. "I'm okay, I promise. I'm going to take Jon his tea." 

He picked up one of the mugs and scurried out of the break room. 

Sasha looked at Tim. Tim looked back. 

Wordlessly, they reached out to each other. Tim let his arms wrap around Sasha's shoulders as she gripped his shirt. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. 

"This is all insane, right?" Her voice was muffled against his shirt. 

"Totally insane. Are you alright?"

"Not really. But I will be." 

There was a gentle cough at the door. Tim glanced up to see the older Jon awkwardly standing at the door. 

He let go of Sasha. "Hey. What can we do for you?" 

He held up the pile of blankets he held in his arms. "I found these. Thought you might want them." 

"Thanks." 

"They're a bit dusty, but they're better than nothing." He placed the stack on the table. "I'm going to take one to him." 

With that, he took a blanket off the pile and vanished into Jon's office, shutting the door behind himself. 

"Archives sleepover. Fun." 

Tim picked up one of the blankets and shook it out, laying it on the floor. 

"I haven't had a sleepover since I was a kid." 

"Same. Strange to think the tradition is coming back in these circumstances."

The door to Jon's office reopened, and out stepped Martin. He looked flushed and slightly awkward as he came back into the break room. Behind him, the older Jon stepped out, shooting one last look at Martin before he vanished down the corridor into the archives. 

"Hey." 

He smiled at them, a little tense. "Hey. Jon said he found blankets."

"Help yourself." 

Tim watched him unfold the blanket, then refold it, then unfold it." 

"You okay, Martin?"

He looked up at him. He sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay. Crazy night, huh?" 

"Yeah." Tim flopped onto the floor. "I think this is the weirdest night of my life." 

Sasha sat next to him. "So, what do we call them? Jon and Jon?" 

"John, with a h?" 

"Jon and Hot Jon." 

Sasha snorted. "Which ones the hot one?" 

Tim raised his eyebrows at her. "Sasha, you have eyes, right? Don't you dare try and deny that the scruffy apocalypse look suits Jon."

"Oh it does, but I've watched you flirt with Jon enough times to know that you would if he ever offered, apocalypse chic aside." 

Martin spluttered. "I don't think that's really appropriate." 

"Oh come off it, Martin. As if you don't want to bundle him up in a blanket and take him home." 

"That's different. Just because I think he should eat a proper meal doesn't mean I want to- to..." He was blushing furiously now. "Oh shut up, Tim." 

"He's like a stray cat." Sasha hummed. 

Tim rolled over towards her. "Show your working, Miss James." 

"Feral, skinny, looks like he's seconds away from collapsing. And like you two just said, you want to bundle him up and feed him. Ergo, stray cat." 

"Which Jon are we talking about right now?"

"Honestly, could be either." 

"Stray cat or not, he's pulling off the 'Ive been through the apocalypse and I'm a badass' look very well." Tim said. "I mean, the hair? The intense, brooding expression? The scars? What's not to fall head over heels for?" 

Sasha laughed. "You're hopeless. Martin, tell him he's hopeless."

"Sasha's right, you are hopeless." Martin smirked at him, some of the easy familiarity that came from joking with friends returning to his expression. 

"Why's Tim hopeless?" 

The sound of Jon's voice startled Tim so much he almost rolled fully onto Sasha. 

"Jon! Don't sneak up on us like that!" 

Their regular, non time travelling boss was standing in the doorway to his office. He had the grace to look somewhat sheepish. "Sorry." 

"It's alright." Sasha breathed out a laugh, shoving Tim off her. "What can we do for you? Come to make sure we are obeying lights out?" 

"I- Well... I was was wondering if you would be okay with some company?" 

"Office not comfortable?" 

"Yes, well, I don't think that chair was designed for sleeping in." 

"I think that chair was barely designed for sitting in. Come on, pull up a blanket." 

Jon carefully sat down, legs tucked under himself. "So, why is Tim hopeless?" His tone was light, but it felt forced. 

"We are trying to figure out what to call you and the other Jon."

"I see." He said. "Did you reach a decision?" 

Sasha shook her head. "We got sidetracked. I'm too tired to think of anything right now. We'll work it out in the morning." 

Jon nodded. He unfolded the blanket in his hands and wrapped it around his shoulders. 

"Very well. Goodnight then." 

"Night, Jon. 

-

It was nearer to midday than morning by the time Sasha woke up, and Jon was already gone. His patch of the floor was empty, with his blankets folded carefully on the table. 

She could hear the quiet rumble of his voice outside the door, seemingly talking to himself. Carefully, Sasha detangled herself from Tim, rolling him off her back into his own space. She stood, glancing at Martin as she went. He was curled into a tight ball, smaller than she would've thought he could go. His eyelids fluttered gently as he dreamed. Sasha hoped it wasn't a nightmare. 

Quietly, she opened the break room door and crossed the hallway into the main office. 

"I don't understand."

"I'm afraid I can't explain it. I didn't realise until far too late, and by that point I'd almost missed my chance." 

"But hes-" 

Jon the Younger cut off as Sasha pushed the door open. 

"Ah, Sasha. Good morning." The Archivist smiled at her. "Did you sleep well?"

"When Tim wasn't laying on me, yeah. What are you up to?" 

He pointed to an honest to god chalkboard, like something from a Victorian schoolroom. "I found this. I thought it might make explaining things a bit easier." 

"This is the most Jon thing I've ever seen in my life. You already look like a stressed out English professor, this just takes the cake." 

They both ducked their heads in identical motions, matching expression of sheepish amusement on their faces. Sasha grinned. 

"Come on, lets get this into the break room."

Together, the three of them managed to manoeuvre it across the hallway and into the break room in time for Martin to finish making their morning teas. 

"Oh goodness!" 

"Yeah, they've leant into their professor vibes." Sasha kicked Tim as she passed. He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his arms. "Timothy, if you don't wake up I'll tell Martin to not give you your tea." 

He pushed himself up on his elbows and blinked blearily at her. "You wouldn't dare." His voice was croaky and slurred. Sasha held out a hand and hauled him upwards. He leant heavily on her shoulder for a moment. "Five more minutes." 

"Now, Tim." 

He groaned again, but still shook himself awake, smoothing down his hair and rumpled clothing. 

Martin handed Jon his tea. 

"Oh. Thank you, Martin." Jon stared up at him, eyes wide. Martin nodded awkwardly. He turned away, heading back to the counter to fetch Sasha and Tim's tea. Jon watched him go, an unreadable expression on his face. When he caught Sasha watching him, he looked away, cheeks flushing. 

They all drank their tea in companionable silence, slowly waking up as the warmth seeped into their fingers. By the time the mugs were empty, even Tim had stopped blinking sleep out of his eyes. 

Old Jon finished his tea, put his mug down, and stood. 

"Right. Well. The end of the world." 

Sasha sat forward. "How was it your fault?" 

Jon tensed. If the other Jon noticed, he said nothing. 

"I was manipulated into triggering a ritual." 

"By Jonah Magnus?" 

"Yes." 

Sasha frowned. "How could Jonah Magnus manipulate you into ending the world? He's been dead for 150 years." 

"That's a long story, one I'm not going to get into right now." 

"How did the ritual end the world? And if the world ended, how could you come back?" 

"It ended in the sense that things stopped. There was still a world, but it wasn't the same." He picked up a piece of chalk. "Basically, there are fourteen entities. Fifteen, depending on who you ask. These entities are the embodiment of terror. Some are more self explanatory, like the Dark or the Buried." He drew two circles on the board. "But then you get some of the more esoteric ones like the Vast or the Eye." 

He drew some more circles, creating a ring of thirteen of them with one larger one in the middle. "Each of the Entities feeds off the fear of a different thing. When someone is afraid, one of the fears can feed off it. Arachnophobia, that feeds the Web." He pointed to one of the circles. "That's the fear of manipulation, control, that sort of thing. It manifests as spiders and puppets." 

Jon leant forward. "So Mr Spider..."

"You weren't crazy. It actually did happen." 

"What about the Circus?" Tim fixed him with a hard look. 

"The Stranger. Fear of the unknown. I'm afraid that's also what got Sasha." 

"And replaced me?" 

He nodded, looking pained. "None of us realised." 

"One person did. In Martin's journal it said you were the second person to remember me. Who was the first?" 

"'Melanie King." 

"The host of Ghost Hunt Uk?" 

He chuckled. "The very same." 

"Why did she remember me?"

"She came in to give a statement. You only met once. Apparently that was enough. The Stranger is odd like that. Planting that doubt in the mind of one person, the knowledge that something isn't right and yet no one else can see it, that's enough for it. When we found out they were attempting a ritual, we had to try and stop it." 

"Did we succeed?" Tim asked, expression dark. 

"Very much so. But the cost was too much." The older Jon look at Tim. "You died. I was in a coma for six months. Daisy, our other companion who came with us, was trapped in a cursed coffin for eight months." 

"Fuck." 

"Yeah. It was even worse at the Institute. Elias has been arrested and replaced with Peter Lukas, who was attempting to use Martin to carry out his own ritual of sorts."

"What? Why me?" Martin stared at him. 

"He thought he could control you." Older Jon replied, with a vicious smile. "He was wrong." 

"Why had Elias been arrested?" Jon frowned. 

"He killed Gertrude. And-" He cut off. "Well. Anyway, Martin got him arrested."

"I did?"

"You did. I'm told it was quite something." 

Martin smiled slightly. He sat a little straighter in his chair. 

Jon stood and crossed over to the board. "What's this one?" He pointed to the larger circle. 

"That's the Eye. The fear of being watched, of being known."

"Why is it bigger than the others?" 

"Because the Eye was the one that caused the end of the world. Most of the Entities have rituals, ways of ending the world and bringing about a new existence ruled by that fear. Their servants try to carry out those rituals, but none of them work. The fears aren't as clear cut as you'd think, they overlap a lot. To have the concept of a single thing that everyone is afraid of is impossible, that's not how humans work. What the Eye does is it takes all the fear, watches it, knows it, catalogues it." He gestured around them. "Archives it." 

Sasha felt her heart sink. "You mean..." 

The Archivist nodded. "The archives are part of the Eye. I'm part of the Eye." 

Jon stared at him, eyes dark. "What do you mean, you're part of the Eye?" 

"I serve it. Accidentally, I might add. The Archives are designed to feed it, and so by extension, the Archivist feeds it as well. Like you said, catalogue is literal. I'm a walking, talking canvas of all human fear. The scars, the marks, they aren't just from and archival position, they're from the Entities." He raised his right hand where a large burn scar covered it from fingertip to wrist. "This is from the Desolation. The one on my throat is from the Hunt. Prentiss, the worms, that's part of the Corruption. I was marked by each of the Entities, that's how I was able to complete the ritual." 

He turned back towards the board and started writing names of Entities in the circles. 

Jon watched him write, gaze fixed on the hand with the burn.

"How much more is there to say?" 

The Archivist glanced across at him. "Nothing that can't wait. I've said the main parts." 

"I'm going to have a cigarette."

He nodded. "You should probably all take a break. Finding out about all this stuff can be a lot in one go. I'll order some lunch when you all get back."

"Do you even have money?" Tim asked. 

He shrugged. "I've been stealing from Elias for days. Bastard still hasn't noticed. It's on the house." 

-

Jon pulled his coat tighter around himself. He fished a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, removing one and putting it between his lips. He lit it and took a long drag, exhaling slowly, watching the smoke rise into the London air, thin rivulets of grey mingling with the smog of the city centre. 

He pulled out his phone. 

Carefully, he dialled a number, hoping the intended recipient hadn't changed it in the years since they'd seen each other. 

After a few rings, they picked up. 

"Hello?" 

"Georgie, it's me. I was wondering if we could talk." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> martin: my little crush on my boss is super easy to deal with, this is fine  
> future!jon: *looks at him Like That*  
> past!jon: *reads martins journal and sees all the cutesy stuff martin said about him*  
> martin: i can now look at neither of these people this is Too Much 
> 
> this was very dialogue heavy, i apologise 
> 
> i'm announcing something super exciting on my insta tomorrow, so head over there to see that!


	6. Chapter 6

"Will you please stop?" 

Georgie held up a hand, trying to level her breathing between bouts of laughter. 

"Georgie, this is serious." Jon glared at her. 

"Yeah, I can see that Jon." She croaked. "Time travel?"

"Georgie."

She fought down another round of giggling. "Sorry, sorry." She sat up straighter, folding her hands atop the table in the small coffee shop Jon had asked her to meet him at. "You were telling me about how your future self has come back in time to stop the apocalypse." 

"I don't know why I called you." Jon pushed his chair back, grabbing his bag from where he'd tucked it under his chair. "Forget I said anything." 

"No, Jon, wait." Georgie leant over the table and put a hand on his arm. "I promise, I won't laugh." 

He narrowed his eyes at her."Fine. If you laugh, I'm leaving." He sat back down. 

"So, you're upset because, what, your future self is cool?" 

"He's not cool." Jon spat. "I would doubt if he was even me if it weren't for-" He sighed. "He has proof that I can't dispute. Things that no one else knows." 

She nodded. "What about the others?" 

He waved a hand. "They all seem to believe it readily enough." He stabbed his drink with a spoon. "And they all think he's so interesting and badass and-" He glared out the window. 

"And?"

"And they're right. He is interesting and badass, because he isn't me. Not anymore." 

"So you're jealous." 

"No. Yes, I don't know." 

He went quiet. Georgie staredat him. "What is it, Jon?"

"Martin."

"Martin?"

"Martin. He's one of the archival assistants. Apparently, him and my future version are in a.... relationship." 

"Dating?" 

"Yes. I don't know many details, but they are together." He sighed. "I don't understand how it could've happened. I hated Martin when I met him, and then his work was shoddy at best and useless at worst. He's disorganised and forgetful, he misfiles statements almost daily, and I regularly have to remind him to hand reports in. And then ever since..." He waved a hand. "He showed up, it's been like I noticed something... different. Like Martin changed his hair or got a new shirt, but he hasn't, he's still just Martin." 

Georgie smiled. "You stopped paying attention to his work and started paying attention to him." 

He blinked at her. 

"Jon, you're so oblivious it hurts sometimes." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"I'll tell you when you're older. Why has the idea of you dating someone bothered you so much?" 

He looked away. "I don't know. After we broke up I sort of accepted that I would never meet anyone as good as you again. I'm not the sort of person who gets a happy ending with a loving partner. That's a pipe dream meant for someone a lot less-" He gestured at himself. "Me." 

"And now?"

"And now that possibility is on the table, and I don't know, it scared me?" He scoffed. "Listen to me. Moaning because I just found out there's hope for my love life. Tim and Sasha just found out the died grisly deaths and I'm complaining about the prospect of someone liking me."

Georgie grinned at him. "You never change, do you Jon?" 

"Do you want me to?" He smiled at her, a little uneasy. They were back in unfamiliarly familiar territory, edging back towards the friendship they had had before they thought they wanted more. It had been years, such a long time since they'd seen each other, but this felt like they'd only seen each other yesterday. 

"No, Jon. I don't want you to change." 

He let out a small exhale of relief, and went back to taking small sips of his drink, gazing absentmindedly out of the window. 

Georgie grinned. "Can I meet him?"

"What?" 

"I want to meet him. Future Jon. I want to ask him about lottery numbers and who to bet on at the races." 

He gave her a withering glare. 

"Fine, I want to see how the apocalypse changed you from grumpy old you to someone that you are jealous of."

"I'm not jealous." 

"Sure."

"I'm not!"

"Sure." 

"Georgie. I'm not jealous of him. Besides, he ended the world." 

"Even better! Come on, Jon, I'd let you meet my apocalypse clone!" 

He sighed. "Fine. But please don't make it weird." 

"When have I ever made it weird." Before he could answer, Georgie stood, grabbing her coat off the back of her chair. "Show the way then, Head Archivist." She held out her arm. 

He scoffed a small, fond laugh and linked their arms. 

The walk to the archives was short. Jon had asked her to meet him at a cafe close to the Institute, so they didn't have far to go before Jon was pushing open the grand doors to the building. He lead her through the lobby and down a flight of stairs into the archives proper. 

They passed a door labelled 'Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist', and Georgie grinned. She turned to say something to him when a voice came from around the corner. 

"Ah, Jon. We were about to order lunch, what would you-" 

He cut off as he came around the corner. Georgie stared at him. Jon had warned her about the differences in his appearance, but to see them in person was startling. Jon has always been small, awkwardly built with too many joints and not enough height, but this Jon was beyond narrow. He was rail thin, hunched in a way that reminded her of him in the depths of exam season when he would forget to eat for days in favour of studying. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than ever. The scars that Jon had warned her about were littered across his face and arms, a random, chaotic pattern that whispered of a lifetime of suffering. His hair was long, almost longer than it had been in university, before he cut it all off a month after graduation. Even his clothes were vastly different. Jon's stuffy, academic vibe had given way to an eclectic mess of fabric. He was almost drowning in a green knitted sweater pushed up to his elbows, and the floral skirt he had on had to have been borrowed given the awkward length. He looked more like a swamp witch than a human man. 

"Georgie..."

The voice. Every aspect of Jon had changed, but it was still his voice. Less rough and abrasive, but still him. He breathed her name like he couldn't believe she was here, and her heart broke. 

"Oh, Jon. What happened to you?" 

He smiled, a small, awkward thing, full of hopeful nervousness. "It's so good to see you." 

"He said you ended the world." She gestured to the Jon next to her.

"I didn't mean to. It was Jonah, he used me." 

"I know, he explained everything. It's okay." 

He looked on the verge of tears. "Georgie, I'm so sorry. For everything." 

Before she even realised she was moving, Georgie was hugging him. He felt so frail under her hands, like if she hugged him too tight he would snap. He hugged her back, wrapping his scarred arms around her middle. He mumbled something into her shoulder, but she couldn't hear. 

She pulled back slightly. "Say again." 

"I've missed you. I messed up, I'm so sorry." 

"Jon, look at me. You haven't messed up yet. Not for me." 

He laughed damply. Slowly, he let go of her, stepping back to give her her own space again. "Don't be too hasty. You haven't heard everything yet." 

"Then tell me. Come on." 

He smiled at her. "On one condition." 

"Oh?"

"Show me a picture of the Admiral. I've missed him too." 

-

Georgie had left a few hours ago, promising to send both Jon's many pictures of her cat. Jon had gone into his office, but left the door open so the assistants could see in. Progress, Tim thought. 

The atmosphere in the archives was strange. The assistants were at their desks, all working or pretending to work. Old Jon had cleared the boxes off the spare desk in the corner and was sat, head on hands, examining a statement, quietly muttering to himself. 

Tim had had enough. 

"Right." He dropped the file in his hands onto the desk. "Enough." 

They all looked up at him. 

"Sasha."

"Tim."

"Drinks." 

"Of course."

"Brilliant. Martin, drinks." 

"Oh, I, uh, I suppose so." 

"Correct. Spooky Jon?" 

He chuckled. "I'd be flattered, on the condition that you never call me Spooky Jon again." 

"Too late. Regular Jon!" Tim leant back on his chair at a dangerous angle so he could see through the open door into Jon's office. "Drinks?" 

"Uhh, I think I'm going to catch up on some statements. Today has left me too behind." He called back. "Enjoy yourselves though." He added, almost as an afterthought. 

Tim shook his head and righted his chair. "Typical." 

The Archivist smiled. "Give him time. He'll come around." 

"You would say that." Sasha stood, throwing on her coat. "Let's get out of here. There's only so much eldritch horror nonsense I can put up with before I need a stiff drink." 

"Amen to that." Tim gathered his things and lead the way out of the archives. As he passed Jon's door, he paused. "You sure, boss?" 

Jon looked up at him. He hesitated for w moment, before smiling politely. "Quite sure, thank you Tim." 

Tim nodded and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe once. "If you change your mind..." 

He turned back towards the others. "No luck?" Spooky Jon asked. 

Tim shook his head. "Come on. I want to get drunk enough that I regret it at work tomorrow." 

-

"It's in the wrist. Here." Sasha demonstrated the move again. "You just flick it." 

Jon watched her balance the coaster on the edge of the table, knock it upwards with her hand, and catch it, all in one smooth movement. 

He attempted it, trying to follow her steps closely. The end of his fingers caught the coaster and sent it flying towards Tim. 

He frowned. "Not quite." 

"I guess knowing everything doesn't help with actually doing that thing." 

"I guess not." Jon took the coaster back. "There's some things that only come with practice." 

"Get that on a motivational poster." Martin chuckled. "Or a mug." 

Jon grinned at him, then caught himself. _Not yours_ , he reminded himself. _This isn't him_. 

"The real trick," Sasha said, moving Tim's drink to steal his coaster. "Is doing more than one at a time."

She balanced the two coasters, flicked them, and caught them. 

Jon shook his head. "Colour me impressed." 

"You should be. You should be very impressed. I'm very impressive."

He laughed. "Yes you are, Sasha." 

Tim let out a sound of mock indignation. "Praise, from Jonathan Sims? It must be the end of the world!"

"Very funny, Tim. You- Ah, I see." Jon smiled as the Beholding offered him a nugget of information. He looked at the door just in time to see his past self step inside. 

He waved him over, pulling a nearby chair until it was level with their table. 

"Jon! You decided to join us!" 

"Yes, well," He coughed nervously. "I thought that I would, you know, come see what all the fuss was about." 

Jon chuckled at his younger self. He gestured to the free chair. "By all means. I'll get the next round." 

"You sure?" Martin sat forward, clearly ready to offer payment. 

"Quite sure. Like I said, Elias's money. Think of this as company funded team building." 

-

Spooky Jon slipped on the way down the stairs to the archives. Martin caught his arm and hauled him up, laughing. 

"Careful."

Jon gripped his sleeve. "Thank you, Martin." 

"You can't handle your alcohol can you?" 

"Ive never been a big drinker. I typically seek my vices elsewhere." 

Martin snorted. "Only you can be drunk and still talk like that." 

Jon chuckled and leaned against him. "My most sincere apologies for not living up to your expectations of my drunken behaviour." 

Martin pulled him into the break room and sat down on the sofa. "I'm so disappointed, Jon. You've let me down." 

Jon laughed, a little breathless, and dropped down next to Martin on the sofa. He smiled, a warm, genuine thing that Martin didn't recognise. 

Jon propped his head on his hand and stared at Martin. "I've missed you. I miss you." 

Martin leant towards him, heart hammering. "I'm right here." 

Jon smiled sadly. "No. No, you're not." 

Martin wanted to argue. Of course he was here. He had always been here. He was just the other end of the sofa, all Jon needed to do was ask and he would do anything. 

Jon sighed. "I'll let you get some sleep. I've caused too much of a disturbance already, you should be allowed your rest."

"Wait, Jon." Martin grabbed his wrist. As Jon turned back towards him, he floundered slightly. "Stay. Stay here, you can take the sofa. It's probably more comfortable here than down in the tunnels, right?" 

"Thank you." Jon whispered. "Thank you, Martin." 

Martin nodded. Suddenly, he realised he was still gripping Jon's wrist. He let go, ignoring the aching regret in his fingertips. He stood quickly. "Ah, sorry. I'll let you sleep. Goodnight Jon." 

Jon smiled. "Goodnight Martin." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the coaster flipping thing is an actual game me and my friend play in pubs 
> 
> ik this was a long chapter, but i had a lot to get through 
> 
> next week, everyone's favourite lonely arsonist is back, baby!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to the podcast support group gc, they are the best and i love my children

Getting used to a second Jon was strangely easy. He quietly drifted about the archives, pulling statements out of boxes and vanishing to record them. He'd come back, looking strangely satisfied. 

There was a strange abundance of tape recorders, and more than once Spooky Jon (who still refused to answer to that particular nickname) had marched into the assistants office and fished a running tape recorder from a box, clicking it off and muttering something about privacy.

The strangest part of having two Jon's came whenever they made it painfully clear that they were the same person. It was easy enough to pretend that they were siblings or cousins until Spooky Jon referenced something from his past and Jon would nod and add a point. They often moved at the same time, turning as someone entered a room, cocking their head to the side as someone told a story, waving their hands in identical patterns to emphasise a point. 

It was uncanny, to say the least. 

Even so, this was still Jon, and Tim had always liked Jon. He was abrasive and rough, but they had been friends back in research, enough so that Jon had asked Tim to join him when he was promoted. They got on. 

Spooky Jon's presence had bought a small but significant wave of changes. Jon's office door was propped open whenever he wasn't recording a statement and he even joined them for lunch sometimes. They had taken to having their breaks all gathered around the table in the break room, cups of Martin's tea in their hands. 

On one of these get-together, Spooky Jon tensed. His eyes widened, staring into the middle distance for a moment. 

"Jon? Buddy? You good?"

In a flash, he was on his feet. "Elias." He growled the name like it disgusted him. 

"What?"

"He's coming." 

Jon pushed his chair back and stood. "What do we go?" 

"Anyone got a pipe? I have a few ideas." Spooky Jon dragged a hand down his face. "Don't let him know. I should be hidden from him, but I can't be certain." 

He retreated out of the door as the sound of footsteps descending the archives stairs drifted down the corridor. 

The soft sound of the trapdoor into the tunnels shutting came a moment before Elias called out "Hello? Jon?" 

Jon took a steadying breath and sat back down. "I'm in the break room, Elias." 

Elias stepped into the room, all pressed suit and carefully groomed hair. 

"Ah, Jon. I was wondering if we might have a quick meeting."

Tim felt Jon tense next to him. "I'm afraid I'm rather busy. Perhaps another time?"

Elias gave him a long, level stare. "That's no trouble. I only wanted to congratulate you. I understand things have been progressing quite well here."

"Thank you." Jon stared at him. 

"Yes, well." He straightened up, smoothing down his tie. "Martin, I understand you have moved back into your flat. I imagine you're glad to be out of the archives."

Martin shook his head. "No, still here. Sorry." 

"Really?" Elias frowned. "You're sure?" 

"Yep." Martin's fingers were trembling slightly around his mug. 

"Hmm," Elias stared down at him, scrutinising his expression. "In that case, someone should probably inform your landlord."

Martin nodded. The trembling had gotten worse. 

Jon stood. "Well, thank you, Elias, but we really should be getting back to work."

Elias swivelled his gaze onto him. Jon met it. "Of course. I'll leave you all to it." 

"Thank you." 

Elias drifted out of the room, disappearing back up the stairs out of the archives. 

They didn't relax until they heard the sound of the archives door close and the trapdoor open. 

Spooky Jon reappeared a moment later. 

"What did he want?"

Jon sighed. "A meeting. Apparently we've been making a lot of progress."

The Archivist shuddered. "Vile man."

"He also asked Martin if he had moved back into his flat." Tim said. 

"What?" Spooky Jon frowned. "Why?"

"I don't know, but he said I should tell my landlord. I guess I forgot to phone him after it all happened." 

He froze. "Wait. Elias asked you- Oh god." 

"What's wrong?" Sasha leant forward. 

"Martin."

"I'm right here."

"No, not you. My Martin, my-" The Archivist turned on his heel and sped from the room. The assistants all glanced at each other confused. The sound of the archives door opening spurred them into action. 

Tim was first out the door, sprinting down the corridor after Spooky Jon. He was quicker than he looked, already halfway across the thankfully empty foyer. Even Rosie seemed to be absent. 

Tim caught up to him as he descended the steps outside the archives. 

"Jon, slow down. What's going on?" Tim panted. 

"Martin." He stepped partially into the road and flagged a taxi. One drove past and he cursed violently. "I need to get to Martin."

"I thought you said he was left behind."

"He was, I- He was in the Distortion. That's how we got here, but I thought he was still there." He was pacing, desperately scanning the lines of cars for a black cab. "I left him."

Tim placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him pacing. A cab turned onto the street and Tim held out a hand. 

It slowed, and Jon wrenched the door open. 

He climbed in, telling the driver Martin's address. 

"Wait!"

Tim looked back towards the Institute. Sasha was barrelling out of the door, Jon and Martin in tow. She caught up with them and handed Tim her purse. 

"Here." 

She climbed in after Spooky Jon, who was raking his shaking hands through his hair. 

Jon and Martin both climbed in, and Tim claimed the seat next to the driver. 

He drove slower than Tim would've liked. He didn't fully understand what was happening, but the way the Archivist was rocking in his seat and frantically staring out the window told him enough. 

After a too-long amount of time, the driver pulled up at Martin's block of flats. 

The Archivist threw the door to the cab open and tumbled out, stumbling as he raced to the door, Sasha close behind him. 

Tim pulled the money out of Sasha's purse, telling the driver to keep the change. He'd pay her back later. 

Turning, he followed Martin through the door and after Spooky Jon. 

Jon took the steps two a time, leaping up the stairs. The desperate pounding of his heart was deafening in his ears. 

He reached Martin's door and slammed his fist into it. 

"Martin! Martin, can you hear me?" 

He heard voices from inside, speaking over each other. He banged the door a few more times. 

"Martin, it's me, I'm here, _please_ -"

Jon stepped back and aimed a kick at the door. It didn't budge. 

He wound up for another one, but as he stepped forward, Martin - not his Martin, the wrong one, the one that wasn't inside the flat only mere metres away - caught up with them and held out a hand to stop him. 

"Jon, Jon, I have keys." 

He held up the jangling set of keys. 

Jon blinked at them. Oh, that made sense. It was Martin's flat. 

Martin turned to unlock the door, too slow, not nearly fast enough for Jon's desperation. 

The second the door was open, Jon pushed past him. 

The living room was littered with tape recorders, all playing tinny recordings of Jon's statements from after the Change.

_ 'I spy with my little eye- literally everything.' _

_ 'Are you kidding me? You- you obliterated her! You- you smote her!' _

_ 'Physical danger, but if I'm in danger of being mad at you or something, you've got to figure it out the old fashioned way.' _

_ 'Hi. How are we doing? You can call me Doctor David.'  _

_ 'It doesn't matter in the end; the cry is the same. "This isn't fair. This isn't right."' _

_ 'Great. It's great. Lovely couch.' _

Jon heard the others follow him in, a quite 'woah' from Tim, but he didn't care. Martin wasn't here. 

He ignored the tapes and headed for Martin's bedroom, opening the door with a little too much force.

It didn't matter. 

There he was, curled under a blanket, hand clutching a tape recorder. 

_ 'You are Martin Blackwood. Yes. You didn't choose to be here. Jon is coming.' _

"Martin." Jon breathed. He dropped down to his knees next to the bed, gently tugging the blanket away from Martin's face. 

A small cloud of fog rolled off Martin as he shifted, raising his head slightly. 

"Jon?" His voice was cracked and weary with disuse. 

"It's me." Jon felt tears falling down his face. "Martin, I'm here. I'm so sor-"

His words were cut off by Martin surging up, wrapping cold arms around Jon. He clawed at his shirt, half dragging him onto the bed. Jon scrabbled at his shoulders, gripping him back, feeling the way his shoulders heaved as he took deep, gulping breaths. 

"Jon, I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too. I'm so sorry."

"It's been so Lonely." 

Jon buried his face in Martin's hair. "I know. I know." 

"Oh that's interesting." 

Jon flinched back from Martin at the sound of the familiar voice. He turned and glared at their intruder.

In his haste to get to Martin, Jon had missed the sickly yellow door that wasn't supposed to be there. 

Michael leant out, propping one impossible shoulder against the doorframe. It's limbs were all too long, and Jon couldn't focus on one part of it for too long. 

"Michael." Jon growled, wrapping a protective arm around Martin. "What are you doing here?"

It laughed. It sounded like a car backfiring directly behind Jon's teeth. "I came to check on this one. I found him wandering my corridors all alone. I didn't recognise him, and I know everything that happens in my corridors, so I thought he might be lost. I took him home." 

"So it's your fault that I haven't been able to See him."

"Possibly. Or you just got muddled up. There are two of him after all."

Jon suddenly became aware of a presence in the actual doorway to the bedroom. The assistants and his past self were all gathered there, gaping at Michael. 

"Don't touch them." He pushed himself to his feet. 

"Oh I don't intend to. This is far too entertaining for now. I'll be off now, Archivist. But I'll be keeping a close," It winked. "Eye on things." 

It laughed again at its own ridiculous joke, and then it was gone, the wall becoming just the wall once again. 

The tape recorder still clutched in Martin's hand rumbled out _'It's the Lonely, Jon. It's me.'_

Jon clicked it off. 

He met Martin's eyes. They were red, rubbed raw around the edges, as if Martin had been crying hard for days. 

"Oh, Martin." 

Martin smoothed a hand down Jon's face, scratching slightly at his beard. 

"This is new." He rubbed his hand along the stubble.

"Haven't really had time to shave. Do you like it?"

Martin smiled. It opened up his whole face, crinkling the crows feet around his eyes. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"I'll always come for you."

"I know." 

Martin tugged him forward gently, kissing him softly. 

Jon heard a small 'oh' from Tim, followed by a gentle shushing from Sasha. 

He laughed a little, and pulled back. 

"Martin, I think there's some people you need to meet." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well golly gee would ya look at that, it's martin 
> 
> it's gonna get gayer from here on out, folks


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i left my first uni party to write this, pls appreciate it

Sasha has guessed that Martin and Jon were dating, or at least getting there, but she hadn't realised exactly how painfully in love they were. 

It was sickening in the most adorable way.

Future Jon hadn't let go of Martin since they found him, even when the group awkwardly shuffled into the living room to continue the conversation. 

"Tapes?" She heard him ask, quietly. 

"Worked for the coffin. I hoped they would, I don't know, guide you here?" 

"Oh, Martin." 

Tim was already moving to turn the tapes off. "What are all of these?" 

Future Jon looked at him. "Statements. From after the Change, after the world ended."

"Oh, you told them?" Martin looked surprised. 

"I sort of had to. It's a long story, but I'm not as covert as I thought I was." Jon explained. 

"I could've told you that."

Future Jon gave him a fond smile as they all sat down on the various chairs around Martin's living room. "Yes, alright." 

Regular Jon cleared his throat. "You said you had introductions to do." He said, a little gruff. 

Future Martin grinned at him. "I forgot what you were like."

"Hush. Martin, you already know... well, us, I suppose." 

Regular Martin waved awkwardly. His double smiled back, a little sadly. 

"And then Tim." 

Tim shot him finger guns. 

Future Jon turned towards Sasha, stroking the back of Martin's hand. "And this is Sasha."

Martin let out a small gasp. "Oh, of course. Oh Sasha, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise."

"It's okay. Jon's explained everything."

"Still-"

"Martin, I promise, it's okay." Sasha desperately wanted people to stop apologising to her. 

Martin nodded. He looked at his Jon, then frowned.

"What's wrong?"

Sasha looked. The older Jon's cheeks were wet, and thin tears were rolling their way down them.

"I left you behind."

Martin sighed and leant back. "No you didn't, Jon."

"Yes, I did. Don't try and pretend that it was okay, because it wasn't. You trusted me to get us here and I let you down." 

"Jon, stop." Martin's tone was forceful. Sasha glanced at Tim in surprise. "I know how much you hate the Distortion, and Helen wasn't exactly helping. Neither of us are to blame, so don't try to say it's your fault. Did I like being stuck in the Distortion and then being trapped in my flat for the second time? No absolutely not, but you've already said that you couldn't See where I was. I don't blame you, Jon, so don't you start blaming yourself." 

Spooky Jon smiled a little sadly at him and leant forward to rest his head on Martin's shoulder. Martin wrapped his arms around him and held him close. 

Normal Martin let out a small sound. Sasha glanced at him. He seemed to be trying to retreat into the sofa, leaning strategically away from Jon, who was gaping slightly at Future Martin. 

"We need to work out what we are going to call you. I can't keep calling you Spooky Jon and Future Martin."

"Spooky Jon?" Future Martin smiled at him. 

"I objected to the nickname."

"It's cute. Suits you." 

Martin made the small noise again. 

"What about surnames?" Tim suggested. 

"Surnames?"

"Yeah. Like, Sims and Blackwood." 

Spooky Jon, Sims, blinked at him, then looked back at Martin. "It could work?" 

"It makes you sound so formal. But I like it. It would get confusing otherwise." Blackwood grinned. "Hello Sims." 

Sims chuckled. "Hello Blackwood."

It was Jon's turn to make a small noise. He was gripping the arm of the sofa with white knuckles, pointedly not looking at his future self or either of the Martin's. 

Tim seemed to notice it too, because he slapped his knees and stood up. "As fun as this is, we should get back to work. Archives anyone?"

Blackwood grimaced. "Oh god, the archives. Might as well just go for it."

He stood and held a hand out to Sims, who took it and let himself be pulled up. "How did any of you get here, anyway?" 

Tim snapped his fingers. "Sasha, I owe you for the taxi!"

Sasha sighed. "Of course you do." 

Back in the archives, Jon vanished into his office, while Sims disappeared into the break-room. Sasha followed him in pursuit of the good biscuits Martin hid on the top shelf for special occasions. This felt like a special occasion. 

Blackwood passed the break-room door and paused, watching Sims take a mug out the cupboard. 

Sasha caught his eye and pointed at the biscuits. He crossed over the space and reached up, pulling the packet down and handing them to her. 

"Here." He smiled, then went back to watching Sims fill the kettle. "Say, Jon?"

Sims glanced at him and hummed. 

"Are you busy after work?" 

Sims put the mugs down. "Not particularly. Why, what did you have in mind?" 

"I was wondering if you would like to get drinks with me."

He fully turned towards him now. "Oh? Really?"

"Mmm."

Sims broke into a grin. "What's all this about, Martin?"

"Nothing! I'm just doing something that I've wanted to do for a long time."

"And that is?"

"Ask my very attractive boss out for drinks."

Sasha choked on a biscuit slightly. 

Sims held out a hand. Blackwood took it and let himself be tugged forward. "I'm flattered. However, I don't know if it's really appropriate. I am your boss."

"Not anymore. I'm pretty sure that we are both technically unemployed."

"Then how were you planning to pay for drinks?" Sims smirked at him. 

"You're the breadwinner in this relationship, Jon." Blackwood leant closer to him. "You were going to pay for drinks."

Sims laughed. "I see. Well, I will think about your offer and get back to you."

Blackwood stepped back. "Don't keep me waiting. I could always meet someone else."

"You wouldn't dare."

A small, polite cough distracted them from their blatant, almost painful flirting. Sasha looked to see who had interrupted the best sitcom she had ever seen in her life. 

Jon stood awkwardly in the doorway. 

"Sorry. Uh- Here." He held out a small fluorescent sticky note. "I think this is for you? It was stuck to my desk."

Sims took it and read out loud, " _Archivist, I believe I have found something that will interest you. Regards, JL_."

"Who is JL?" Martin leant around the doorway. Jon leant away from him slightly. 

"It can't be." Blackwood gaped at Sims. "Surely not." 

"It would appear so. Interesting." Sims studied the note. "Martin, you best get Tim. I have a few more things I neglected to explain."

"Who is it from?" Jon asked, a little insistent. 

Sims smiled at him. "Unless I am very much mistaken, Jurgen Leitner." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sasha was sitting taking notes for the entire jmart flirting scene 
> 
> also, the person who makes the best jurgen leitner joke gets a character in my teacher!jon fic named after them/their oc  
> (ik you're all gonna make the joke anyway, so i might as well benefit from it)


	9. Chapter 9

When Sims had told them about the tunnels, Martin hadn't fully believed him. The idea of secret tunnels hidden under the Institute was verging a little too close to 'spooky ghost story' than reality. 

But now, trailing after Sims and his own future self, lantern in hand, secret tunnels was the most rational part of the day. 

It didn't help that Jon was clearly trying to avoid looking at him, resulting in him casting furtive glances his way whenever he thought Martin wasn't looking. Martin wouldn't have minded so long as Sims and Blackwood weren't currently holding hands and whispering to each other only a few feet in front of them. Jon's attention was something Martin had desperately craved for months. Even so much as a 'Hello Martin' or a 'Thank you for the tea, Martin' would've been enough, but Jon had remained stubbornly Jon. Ridiculous, charming, slightly terrifying Jon. 

And then Sims had shown up, wielding a book filled with Martin's ravings about Jon's eyes, and suddenly Jon was all ready to talk. 

Martin hated it. 

Sims wasn't Jon, not really. Sure, logically he was Jon, he walked, talked, and acted like Martin's boss, if Martin's boss had been through years of hellish trauma. 

Hellish trauma that they were now putting an end to before Jon could go through it and turn into the soft, smiling version of himself that cracked terrible jokes and stared at someone who looked like Martin like he'd hung the moon in the sky and thrown in some stars for good measure. 

Martin tried not to be upset by that. 

He'd accepted a long time ago that he was never going to get the happy ending. He wasn't going to get the 'running off into the sunset while the credits roll'. He was stuck with caring for a woman who despised him, hopelessly in love with a man who hated him, and trailing after his own future, even as he watched that possibility run down the drain. 

So Martin's day was going great. 

"You doing okay, buddy?" Tim bumped his shoulder slightly. 

Martin sighed. "I'm fine."

"Really? You look a bit like you're overthinking something. Want to talk about it?" 

"Not particularly." Martin said. Jon sent another glance his way. "I really am fine, Tim." 

"Is it because of Leitner? I'm kinda nervous to meet him too." 

"It's not that. Well, sort of." Martin shook his head. "Everything is just a bit crazy, isn't it?" 

Tim scoffed. "You've got that right."

"We are here." Sims stopped walking. "I think." He sounded uncertain. 

"How can you not be sure? I thought you knew literally everything." Sasha asked. 

"I do." He huffed. "In theory at least. These tunnels are too close to the epicentre of it all, they're hard to see. Like how you can't see your own face because it's too close to your eyes." 

"The epicentre of what?" Jon started. 

Blackwood shushed him suddenly. "Did any of you hear that?" 

Jon blinked at Blackwood a little indignantly, then glanced at Martin again, an unreadable expression on his face. Martin met his eyes and he quickly looked away. 

"I didn't hear anything." Tim said. 

Sasha shushed him. "I think I did."

They all fell silent. The sound of shuffling footsteps came from the other end of the tunnel, stopping a second after they all went quiet. 

"Is that him?" Tim hissed. 

"Come out, Leitner." Sims called. 

There was a beat, a pause that Martin thought lasted forever. 

"Hello Archivist." He stepped out of the shadows and into the small circle of light shed by their lanterns.

Jurgen Leitner was unremarkable. He looked like any other old man Martin had ever seen. Dirtier, with a substantial layer of grime coating his face and clothes, but still not the hulking, snarling monster Martin has expected. He was dressed in fairly standard clothes, and he had an unkempt beard covering the lower half of his face. 

For a man who was mentioned in so many horrific statements, he looked markedly.... unspooky. 

Blackwood cocked his head to the side. "Huh."

Leitner looked at him. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just interesting to see you..." He gestured at his head. "You look different. I don't know why that surprised me."

Sims put a hand on Blackwood's arm. "I assume you know why we are here."

"I know why _you're_ here. I don't understand why you bought them." Leitner gestured at the assistants. 

"I'm not Gertrude." Sims said, harshly. "I have no intention of keeping them in the dark." 

"Hmm." 

"You said you had something for me."

Leitner glanced between Sims and Jon. "Yes, well. When you first arrived and started staying in the tunnels I wasn't sure who you could be. You were an unexpected intrusion."

Martin wanted to shout at him to speak faster. 

"But you're going after Elias, aren't you?" 

Sims narrowed his eyes. "What's all this leading to?"

"He will be able to stop you."

"Unlikely." 

Leitner frowned. "What makes you so sure?"

"I'm not Gertrude." Sims said. "She was unwilling to become what Elias wanted her to be. I didn't get that much say. He _made_ me into the monster that he needed to carry out his ritual. But he also gave me everything I needed to bring him down. I'm really struggling to see how anything you can offer will be helpful here." 

Leitner blinked at him. "Who are you, really?"

"I remember when we met the first time, I really thought you were going to answer every question and fill in all the blanks. You don't really know anything, do you? Sure, you know the basic gist of things. You know about the entities and the rituals, but that's it, isn't it?"

"Wha-"

"Why did you bring us down here?" Sims scoffed." More cryptic clues that lead nowhere?"

Leitner slowly pulled a small plastic nightlight. "Here." He held it out. 

"What does it do?" 

"It's hard to See in the Dark, Archivist. Even Elias struggles with that. This should help you distract him." 

Blackwood stepped forward and took the nightlight. He turned it over in his hands. "It just looks like a normal light?"

"At first glance. Don't turn it on until you absolutely need to."

Blackwood nodded and pocketed it. 

Leitner looked back at Sims. "Before, you said we had met before. I don't remember you."

"Before for me, the future for you. You're lucky. The timeline has changed enough that you might be spared." 

"Spared? Spared from what?" 

Sims narrowed his eyes. Leitner frowned at him, then gasped and staggered back against the wall, hand clutching at his head. 

"Yeah. Try to avoid that happening again." Sims turned away from him and set off back down the corridor. 

Martin went to follow him, but Jon lingered staring at Leitner. 

"Jon." Martin tugged gently on his arm. "Come on." 

"Why?" His voice was so quiet that Martin almost missed it. "Why do it all?"

Leitner looked up at him, trembling. "What?"

"The books. The library. Why hurt all those people?" 

Leitner shook his head. "I thought I was different."

Jon nodded. "But you weren't." 

Jon span away from him and marched down the corridor, hand clutching Martin's elbow, pulling him behind him. Martin glanced back and watched the huddled shape of the man who had ruined so many people vanish into the darkness of the tunnel. 

-

Jon was hovering, and Sims was finally starting to understand why Blackwood always said he wasn't subtle. This was the third time in the last twenty minutes that he had come out of his office under the guise of checking on the progress in the main office. 

"All is well, I hope?" He fidgeted in the doorway. 

"Yes, Jon, we are fine." Sasha called from her desk.

"Good. Good. Excellent." 

Martin (Blackwood, Jon was still getting used to the new names) snorted slightly where he was sat next to Sims. 

Jon glanced over at them, then quickly glanced away.

"Martin's gone to make tea." Tim piped up from his desk. There was a quiet thud and Tim swore under his breath. Sasha smiled and retracted her leg from where she had just kicked him in the shins. 

"Right, tea, of course." Jon nodded, glancing at the door. "I'll, uh, I'll go see if he needs a hand carrying the mugs."

"Oh I'm sure he'll be fine, boss." Tim called after him, but Jon had already left. 

Sims chuckled. "Thank goodness I managed to skip that phase."

Blackwood snorted again. "No you didn't. You tracked me down all across the Institute when I was working for Peter. You asked me to gouge my eyes out with you."

Tim choked slightly. "He what?"

"Long story." Sims waved it away. "Nevertheless, I was never quite like this." He gestured at the door.

"You weren't like this, but you were bad." 

"Yes, yes, alright." Sims put a hand over Blackwood's. "Do you think we are making it worse for them?" 

"How do you mean?"

"I wasn't exactly the most emotionally open back then. Now. I hate time travel." Sims groaned and shook his head. "You know what I mean." 

"I do. And I think it's fine. They would've figured it out on their own anyway."

Sims hummed. He tapped his fingers against the back of Blackwood's hand. "I should get back to work." He stood from the spare desk that he had claimed in the assistants office, and moved to a stack of boxes in the corner. Carefully, he picked up the top three, grunting. They were heavier than he had expected. 

Blackwood chuckled and came up next to him. "Jon, come here, you'll break something trying to carry all that." He lifted the top two boxes off the pile. 

"I had it all under control." 

"Sure you did." 

"Martin." Sims said. 

"Jon." Blackwood said.

"Tim." Tim said. 

They all looked at him. 

"Oh, sorry, I thought we were saying names."

Sims grinned, shaking his head. "Never change, Tim."

Tim shot him finger guns. "You got it, boss." 

Together, Sims and Blackwood (Jon and Martin, Sims supposed, now they they were alone and didn't need to differentiate) carried the boxes down to document storage. 

Martin dropped his boxes by the door. 

"There we go." Martin sat down on the cot. "Huh. I'd forgotten how uncomfortable this thing is." 

"It's truly the worst." Jon sat facing him. 

"Still, it was nice of you to offer."

Jon hummed and ran his hand up Martin's arm. "That was such a long time ago." He tangled his fingers in Martin's curls. 

"You know, that's when I figured out that I liked you."

"Really?"

Martin made an affirming noise. "It was the first time you were anything but an ass." 

Jon scoffed, but leant forward to rest his head against Martin's. "I am sorry, you know that right?"

"Of course."

"Good, because it has been hell watching that version of me out there blunder around without realising that the love of his life is sitting right there." 

Martin leant back. "What was that?"

"What?"

"That thing that you just said. Say it again." 

"Oh shush."

"Jon."

"Fine." Jon smiled. "You're the love of my life. I think about you every waking moment. I cannot imagine living without you. I would end the world all over again if you asked me to, and I would put it all back again at a single word from you."

Martin grinned. "You're such a hopeless romantic."

"That's why you like me."

"It's why I love you." He whispered the words centimetres from Jon's mouth, lips not quite touching, barely a breath between them. 

"I love you too." 

Jon kissed him. It was hard with them both grinning like idiots, but they made it work. 

After a long moment, they broke apart. Jon shifted, getting his legs more under himself, then dropped backwards, flopping down onto the cot. Martin followed him, propping himself up on his hands to hover over Jon. 

He gently kissed the side of Jon's neck, pressing his smile into the skin there. 

Jon chuckled, running his hands through Martin's hair. Jon knew that Martin could feel the vibrations of his laugh through his lips. 

"Tim." 

"What?" Martin asked incredulously, sitting back. "Jon, I know it's been a while, but-"

"Tim." Jon pushed himself up so they were both sat on the bed properly. 

The door swung open and Tim came in, carrying a file in his hand.

"Hey, I just had a question about-" He looked at them sat on the cot and grinned. "Oh! My bad, I didn't realise. I'll let you too get back to it." 

Martin spluttered. "T-Tim!" 

"No, it's fine! I understand!" He raised his hands. "As you were gentlemen!" 

"Tim, what did you want to ask?" Jon tried to fight back a smile. 

"I'm already gone!" 

"Tim, it's fine. Come back." 

Tim poked his head back through the door. "Only if you promise you're both decent."

Martin buried his face in Jon's shoulder, blushing furiously. 

"We are both decent. What did you need?"

"Sasha and I were just going over the list of things you asked us to get, you know, for the plan. We were wondering, why matches?" 

Martin peeked his head back up. "Those are mine."

"Burning candles in the archives, Blackwood?" Tim grinned at him. "Wait until I tell Jon."

"Not quite candles." Martin grinned. "Leitner's nightlight might work for part of it, but we can't just go up to Elias and turn it on. We need a distraction. Did you know that burning statements is actually quite satisfying?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> try saying leitner's nightlight three times fast 
> 
> did leitner suffer enough for you?? was this good??? he got trash talked and then shown the memory of his own death?!? do i need to write a mini chapter about the fact that he fell over several times and on his way back to his hovel??? are you happy now?!?
> 
> tim: yeah i walked in on sims and blackwood making out in document storage  
> martin: ugh where?  
> tim: *long pause*  
> martin: *voice breaking* where, tim?  
> tim: seems like you already know where


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a brief interlude to check in with one j. magnus

Elias was having a terrible, terrible week. 

He'd been having a terrible few weeks, if he were honest. 

It had started when there had been some sort of disruption in the archives. Small, barely noticeable. Elias had been finishing paperwork one day, working late in the office, and suddenly it had felt like there was a presence. At first, Elias had thought it was Jon, possibly coming back to the office to pick something up. As Elias looked closer, however, it became evident that the archive was empty. 

"Oh good, now I'm seeing things." He'd muttered, smirking to himself and making a mental note to try that line on Peter the next time he saw him.

But the insistent press of a gaze had followed him home. Elias could only assume that it was the Eye trying to tell him something. He'd sat in his armchair for hours, not quite praying, just thinking, trying to See, to Know what it wanted him to Know. It was a fruitless endeavour, and he'd ended up falling asleep where he sat. He'd woken up stiff and aching, still in his clothes from the day before, without enough time to shower and freshen up before he needed to be at the Institute. 

That had been the first time. It had happened several more since then. 

He'd been at dinner with Peter one night when a sudden commotion in the archives caught his attention. He'd Looked and seen nothing, not even Martin asleep in document storage. Peter had been amused at his annoyance, but had made it up for him with a very expensive bottle of wine later that evening. 

Even so, Elias was becoming frustrated. 

The morning after that commotion, the entire archives staff had been there at a ridiculous time, with Sasha and Tim wearing the same clothes as the night before. They had all clearly spent the night there, and Elias spent several minutes shouting down the phone to Peter that he had checked and no one had been in the archives at all the night before. Peter, useless as ever, simply suggested that he hadn't looked close enough. Archivists and their assistants are, as he put it, quite easy to loose. 

Elias had won that little argument though, as Peter had phoned him back several hours later asking after Martin, requesting Elias  _check the damn archives, is he still there?_

Once he had confirmed Martin's whereabouts, Peter had hung up with a low growl, cursing like, well, a sailor. He'd slammed the door to Elias' house when he had gotten home, and paced around the living room while Elias watched him, smirking. When Peter had calmed down enough to stop shouting, Elias managed to wrangle out of him that there had been something messing with the Lonely, and that it was seemingly centred around Martin. Elias had Looked and seen that Martin was at home, back in his flat, and he had assured Peter of this. 

A few days later he had gone down to the archives with the intention of congratulating Jon. He'd been recording statements at record speed, but he'd been greeted with a bizarrely hostile environment. All of the assistants had glared at him, barely concealing their anger towards him. He hadn't been able to discern the source of their rage, and it had left him somewhat reeling, especially when Martin had confirmed that he hadn't in fact moved back into his flat. 

Peter had come home that night smug and smiling, saying that the problem was over, it was clearly just something getting a little too close and that they needn't worry anymore. Elias hadn't been so pleased. 

He'd lost sight of his archivist for a substantial amount of the day, and now the bothersome presence was back in the archives, lurking just out of sight. 

Elias was beginning to think that the Eye wasn't on his side. 

And then there were the dreams. 

Beautiful, wretched dreams, of the world, of Elias's world, the world that could be. The one that he was going to shape with Jon's help. Elias had woken up in a cold sweat time and time again, head full of visions of that perfect world. The wondrous glory of those visions should have bought him was squashed under the grip of terror he felt as he looked upon them. They should have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, so vivid and visceral and real, and yet...

Jonah had never been one to weep. He had always been stoic, finding outlets in other means. On nights where Peter graced him with his presence, the distraction was easy enough. Simply roll over and Look at Peter until he woke up, grumbling about the damned eye. They would argue. Sometimes Elias would win and Peter would fall back into bed, threatening violence if he was woken again. Sometimes Peter would win and stalk off into the night, leaving Elias fuming and lonely. Occasionally, though it was rare, they would reach a draw, too evenly matched to get the one up on the other. Then they would sit, in near silence, not touching but not ignoring the other. Sometimes Elias would read, or at least pretend to, while Peter fidgeted and looked around the room for a distraction, until choosing to read over Elias's shoulder. He would criticise his choice of literature and Elias would retort something about Peter's inability to enjoy the simple pleasures afforded by books. At this Peter would pluck the book out of his hand and read a page aloud, putting on ridiculous voices until he became bored, shutting the book with a click and placing it on the bedside table away from Elias. He would leave over him, still not touching, to turn off the lamp, then roll over. Elias couldn't tell if Peter would genuinely fall asleep as soon as he did so, or if he was simply faking the light snoring. Either way, Elias would sigh and settle down as well, hoping his dreams were different.

On nights where Peter wasn't there, Elias had taken to going for walks, picturing the streets in their ruined perfection. But always, that buzz of eyes upon him would follow him, watching his route, Knowing where he was going to turn next. One night, during a stroll through St James Park, it had become too much to bear, and Elias had broken, screaming at the sky, demanding to Know what the hell it wanted with him. He had tried. He head Looked and Watched and Known all he could. Why had the Eye decided to turn its gaze upon him? Why now, after so long of serving it, of crafting the perfect plan to bring about its glory, did it decide he needed to be Watched? He had seen its world, the one he would build in the ruins of reality, and was it not perfect? Did it not feed the Eye? To See that terror, to Know the suffering, did that displease it? He would be king and god of that new world of only...

Elias stalked back to his house, shaking with anger. He was a patient man. He could wait. 

He would not be taken by surprise again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> st james park is right next to buckingham palace, so imagine this really well dressed man going absolutely feral at 3 am next to one of the fanciest buildings in britain 
> 
> i was going to have the Plot here, but i thought we should just see how elias is faring, he's been through a lot, he deserves some attention too 
> 
> yes this chapter does mean the sims has been sitting watching elias slowly loose his mind bit by bit trying to figure out what the hell is going on  
> he's been sitting in the tunnels munching on popcorn enjoying the show


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for this chapter:  
> -description of jon's self doubts/self destructive tendencies, but easily skipable (check end notes for more details)  
> -gore  
> -off screen eye trauma  
> -source of ignition in the archives

Sasha seriously didn't like the prospect of going back to the tunnels, but needs must. And they very much needed to. 

She was accompanying Sims to the place he had called 'the heart of it all'. Before they had gone into the tunnels, Blackwood had handed her the cursed nightlight, wrapped in a cardigan that Sasha guessed had been pilfered from Jon without him noticing, and told her, face far more serious than she had ever seen Martin, to keep an eye on Sims. 

Sasha's experience in artefact storage had made her the first choice to be on 'cursed nightlight babysitting duty' as Tim had called it. Sims wasn't trusted, as there was no telling what would happen to him if he touched it, and they were all quite keen to not find out.

Sims' torch was only so bright, and the walls felt strangely close, the darkness creeping tighter around them whenever the beam of light moved.

Sasha shuddered. 

Sims glanced over at her, a wry smile on his face. "They're not the most pleasant are they? You should've seen it when I first showed up. Prentiss was still down here. I was lucky to catch it at the start, before she had a chance to properly take over." He kicked at a piece of debris on the floor. "Nothing a few fire extinguishers and a snow shovel couldn't fix, but it was deeply unpleasant."

"Oh god, that sounds awful." Sasha tried not to gag at the mental image of Sims hauling load after load of dead worm carcasses. 

"It really was. It was fine in the end thought. Without the worms there I could go to the wall by document storage and listen to Martin record his poetry." Sims suddenly blushed. "Please don't tell him I said that. Either of them. I don't think they'd let me forget it."

Sasha waved it away. "Your secret is safe with me, Sims."

"Thank you." He smiled, looking more than a little relieved. 

Sasha shot him a thumbs up. "Don't mention it." 

They walked in companionable silence for a little while. Sasha liked it, in a strange way. Sims was good company. He was quiet, but not in the awkward way Jon was, less fidgety and more contemplative. Her natural curiosity coupled with his ability to know everything had already led to several fascinating conversations. It was like falling down a wikipedia rabbit hole if wikipedia got as excited as she did about the prospect of interwar cinema or early medieval construction techniques. 

Now though, he was silent, almost scarily so. Even his breathing seemed muted. At points, Sasha wondered if he was even breathing at all. 

"Ouch." Sims hissed through us teeth suddenly. He leant against the wall, eyes screwed shut. 

"What's wrong?" Sasha gripped his shoulder. 

"They've started burning them. It, ah, it stings somewhat." 

"Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine." He took a deep breath and righted himself. 

He trudged along, one hand running along the wall next to him. Sasha wondered if it was to help them navigate or to help him stay upright or simply a nervous thing. 

After a long time, he slowed, gradually coming to a stop. 

"We are close. It's almost time." His voice sounded distant, like he wasn't fully paying attention to the moment, like his Gaze was somewhere far away. "No matter how this goes, Sasha, I really am sorry." 

"Stop apologising." She held up the nightlight. "Let's go steal some old guys eyes." 

-

_ "What about Ireland?" Blackwood handed Sims another box.  _

_ "That could be fun. I'd like to go to India, see where my grandmother was from. Try to reconnect with that heritage, in a way."  _

_ Blackwood hummed. "India. I'd like that." He caught hold of Sims' wrist as he reached for another box. "Hey. I love you." _

_ Sims looked up at him, big dark eyes wide and full of something deep. "I love you too, Martin. So much." _

_ Blackwood nodded, words loosing themselves for a moment. All he could do was pull Sims close, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, planting a kiss to his forehead.  _

_ Sims chuckled and Blackwood felt the vibrations deep in his chest.  _

_ "Come back safe, Jon. I mean it. Don't try to be a hero."  _

_ "When have I ever done that?"  _

_ Blackwood pulled back slightly so he could look Sims in the eye. "We don't have time for me to go through the list. I'm serious, if it looks like it's going to end badly, pull the plug. We'll figure out another way of dealing with Elias."  _

_ "I'll stay safe if you promise to as well." _

_ "I'll be fine. There's not much he can do to me. I already know the thing with my mum and I reckon I've seem far worse things than him. I've been through the apocalypse." _

_ Sims chuckled. "And all I got was this lousy t-shirt." _

_ Blackwood let out a small laugh and buried his face in Sims hair. "Is there any hope." He murmured into Sims' scalp. "Can we actually win?"  _

_ "We can take down Elias. It won't fix much, the Entities will still exist. People will still afraid, but the others will be able to leave the Institute. We can still help them."  _

_ "And then what? Besides travelling, what are our plans?" Blackwood brushed a strand of hair out of his face. "Who are we without all of this?" _

_ Sims sighed heavily. "To be honest, Martin, I don't think I can ever leave. Obviously, I'll be able to leave the Institute, but this life? Knowing things? I'll still be part of it. I can't..." He gripped Blackwood's sweater. "I can't just cut myself off from it. If I still have this, I want to do something good with it." _

_ "Okay." Blackwood kissed his forehead again. "Okay. We'll just become supernatural exterminators. I mean, Nikola is still out there, right? Tim's still going to want to go after the circus. We should help." _

_ "Avenge our friend's memory by helping his younger self do the thing that got him killed." Sims sighed.  _

_ "Tim would love that." _

_"He would." He looked up at Blackwood_ , _wishing he could spend forever in this moment, with no fears and no terrifying plan, just them in each other's arms, protected from the world and everything that wanted them dead. Sims ran a thumb along Blackwoods collar through his sweater. They'd never been the white picket fence, two kids and a dog type, but the choice would've been nice. "I'm sorry. I wish we could just be normal."_

_ "So do I. But as long as we are together, it will be okay." _

-

"Is anyone else a little bit excited about this?" Tim grinned. 

"I mean, the idea of having an ignition source in the archives is worrying, but yes, this is somewhat thrilling." Jon smiled. 

Tim threw an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close. "Jon, we are literally saving the world right now. Lighten up. After this, we can go get absolutely pissed and spend the night revelling in blissful hedonism." Martin made a small noise of anxious dissatisfaction. Tim glanced over to him. "You too."

Martin gave him a forced smile, instantly undercut by him flinching like he'd been shot as the door opened. In stepped Blackwood. He looked between them and nodded, serious. 

"Are you all ready?" 

Tim shot him a thumbs up. 

"Good. I'll be just down the hallway. He shouldn't have a chance to try anything, but if he does, just shout." He held out the box of matches. "Who wants to do the honours?" 

Tim let go of Jon, expecting him to step up to the plate. When he didn't move, Tim nudged him. "Boss? You gonna do it?" 

"Oh." Jon looked up at him. "I thought this was more your style. You know, adrenaline and all that." 

"Christ, Jon." Tim shook his head. "You really need to get out more." 

"I'll do it." 

Tim turned to see Blackwood nod and hand the matches to Martin. "Stay safe, all of you." 

He retreated out of the door. Martin took a deep breath and struck one of the matches. Tim held a corner of one of the statements to the flame, watching the way it quickly caught light. Once it was sufficiently burning, he dropped it into the bin they had dragged to the centre of the room. Jon balled up another statement and tossed it in as well. 

Tim itched to add another one. Slowly, he told himself. They needed to take it slow, make Elias think they were the threat, give Sims and Sasha time to get close. They let the statement burn fully down to embers before adding another, letting it be consumed by the flames. Another joined the pile, then another and another until Tim was starting to worry that their pile would run out.

The door swung inwards and Elias marched in, looking like he was ready to kill someone. He looked around the room, taking in the piles of boxes and scattering of ash around the bin. 

"What are you doing?" Elias demanded. 

"Ah, hello Elias. No need to worry, these have all been disproven, they aren't legitimate statements." Jon smiled his best customer service smile. "Most were given as pranks. You know, people thinking they're the smartest person in the room. That sort of thing." It was a lie. Sims had helped them gather the statements, discarding ones that's he said were 'utter garbage' and handing them 'good ones, ones that will hurt'. 

Elias levelled his glare at him. "Why are you burning them?" 

"We needed to make room in the archives for the new filing system and I'm afraid the shredder broke. Sasha's gone to get it repaired but there's been delays so we decided to try a different method."

Elias was silent for a very long minute, eyes boring into Jon. "I think it's best if we speak in your office." 

"I'm very sorry, but as you can see I'm quite busy." 

"No Jon, I don't believe you are." 

Martin shifted a little closer to Jon, straightening to his full height. Tim found himself once again impressed by Martin's ability to make himself small when he wanted to. It made the reveal that much more satisfying. If Elias was worried about Martin's far more foreboding frame, he didn't show it, simply glowering at Jon.

"What do you think you're going to achieve with this? With any of this? Don't think I haven't noticed your recent developments. I doubt the rate you have been reading statements has been healthy. It would be a shame if something were to happen." 

"If that's a threat, Elias, you'll have to do better."

Elias narrowed his eyes. He straightened up, smoothing down his suit jacket. "If that's how you want to do this, then very well. I don't know how you found out, or how you've been concealing the archives from me, but it ends now." 

"I don't-"

"Be quiet." Elias spat. "Really, I should've never chosen you. You were always too self destructive. When was the last time you slept? Or ate? Eventually people will stop caring. They'll see you are a lost cause, not willing to keep yourself alive long enough to earn their forgiveness. You run yourself into the ground and leave everyone around you trying to pick you back up and put you back together. They bend over backwards to make excuses for you and for what? For you to throw it back in their face? 'Jon's just tired, he doesn't mean it'. That's what Georgie always used to say, isn't it? Whenever you would offend one of your friends and leave her to clean up the mess. How many people can you still call your friends? How many people still care enough to-" He cut off with a ragged gasp. 

Jon sagged slightly, stumbling back into Martin as Elias flailed, tripping backwards over a box. He landed heavily, letting out an 'oumph' as he hit the floor. 

"Wha- what? What happened, I- What have you done?" 

Tim stared down at Elias. He kicked away from them, staring at them with wide eyes, frantically looking between them. His gaze found Tim and for once, the every present prickle of tension he felt whenever Elias looked at him was absent. It was simply... gone. 

Tim felt a grin break out on his face. 

Elias made a wretched noise. "No- how- The Panopticon." He pushed himself up off the floor, stumbling for the doorway, hands shaking as he grabbed for the handle. 

Tim turned to Jon and Martin, already bouncing with triumphant glee. It instantly dissipated as he took in Jon's shaking form. He was leaning heavily on Martin, cheeks streaked with tears and breathing unsteady. 

"That was-" 

The door reopened. Blackwood again, this time holding a fire extinguisher. He put out the fire still burning in the bin, then looked at them. One glance at Jon had him dropping the extinguisher and rushing over. 

"What did he do?" 

"Showed me. Things, the thing he was saying. It was-" Jon shook his head. "Come on. We need to get down to the Panopticon." 

"No. You need to take a moment."

"But Sims and Sasha-"

"Will be fine. Elias isn't much danger without the Eye. We can take five minutes for you to recover."

"But-"

"Jon." Blackwood gave him a hard look. "I mean it. I know how much... that sucks. Take a deep breath and have a drink. Then we can go down to the tunnels." 

Slowly, Jon nodded. He let Martin manoeuvre him into the chair and smooth a hand through his hair, murmuring quiet reassurances. 

Tim gathered up the statements they hadn't burned as Blackwood went to get Jon some water, just to give himself something to do. 

Step one had gone off more or less smoothly. Tim could only hope Sims and Sasha were having as much luck. 

-

_"Martin, I- How are you feeling?" Jon fidgeted nervously.  
_

_"Me, oh I'm great, no need to worry."_

_"Martin, it's okay to be stressed about this."_

_He shot him a look. "I'd say the same to you. It's no good pretending you're not scared." He instantly flushed. "I didn't mean that you're a coward, I just- you know, we are about to do something insane, ah, and it's normal to-"_

_Jon caught his hands, stopping him mid-sentence._

_"Martin. Look at me."_

_Martin glanced at him._

_"It's okay to be stressed. Lords knows I am. And I didn't think you were implying anything about me."_

_Martin gave him a small smile. "I'm a mess, aren't I?"_

_"No more than the rest of us." Jon smiled, running his thumb across Martin's knuckles. Martin was suddenly very aware that Jon was practically holding his hands._

_"Uh, Jon, I-"_

_"'Martin, I wanted to ask you something. Please feel free to tell me to get out of your sight, I just want to- I don't know if I could live with myself if I didn't at least try. I suppose I should first apologise for everything I've done to you. I was extremely unfair and now I wish more than anything that I could take it all back. What I'm trying to say is-"_

_"Do you want to get drinks some time?"_

_Jon blinked at him, train of thought clearly gone. "What?"_

_"Oh, sorry, you had a whole speech going but I just thought- I've wanted to ask that for a very long time and we might not get another chance for me to say it. So, would you like to get drinks some time? Coffee or drinks drinks, I don't mind, but just- drinks?" He trailed off, fidgeting slightly, hands still gripped in Jon's._

_"Martin, I had a whole apology planned! An itemised list of all the times I've been an ass to you and all the reasons that they make me a terrible person whom you should never want to be around!"_

_Martin shrugged, a little sheepish. "Sorry."_

_"No, you can't apologise while I'm trying to apologise!"_

_Martin opened his mouth again, but Jon cut him off with a stare. It was a cheap imitation of the sort of look he used to give him whenever Martin did something wrong. Martin had no idea how long it had been since he had seen that look._

_"What I am trying to say is... would_ you _like to get drinks with_ me _sometime?"_

_Martin blinked. "Did you just ask me out with the exact same line I used to ask you out thirty seconds before?"_

_"In my defence, you did interrupt my attempt to ask you out first."_

_"Oh of course, my apologies."_

_Jon stared up at him, an expectant look on his face. Martin's brain took a moment to catch up. "Oh! Yes, yes I would like to get drinks with you."_

_"Oh good." Jon looked brilliantly relieved. "Thank goodness."_

-

"Jon?" 

Jon felt slightly dizzy. He'd pushed away Martin's fussing probably far earlier than he should have, and it had left him reeling slightly. The thought of Elias in his head, showing him those things... 

Rationally he knew he should've taken a little longer to recover, but Tim had been pacing lines into the carpet and Blackwood had been glancing at the clock so much that Jon had felt time slow down. Eventually he had given up and stood, announcing that he felt fine and that they should go. 

It had been a mistake, but it was far too late to turn back now. 

"Jon?" Blackwood called down the tunnel. Not to him. Jon could ignore it and focus on staying upright. He just wished the pounding in his head would calm down a bit first. 

Part way down the tunnel, his knees had given out and he'd dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. He'd been gearing up to make an excuse to Martin, say that he was fine and not to worry, when he'd seen that Martin was in the same state, curled on the floor clutching his head. 

Blackwood had gasped and said something that Jon couldn't make out. Something about Magnus and the Institute and eyes. Or maybe The Eye. Jon couldn't tell. He'd pushed himself to his feet and helped Martin stand as well as he could, and they'd set off back down the tunnel. 

"Jon!" 

He heard a commotion, and then the tunnel ended abruptly. 

Jon was captivated for a moment by the sight of the Panopticon. The body of Jonah Magnus sat in his awful throne, gazing down at them with empty sockets. 

Then Jon saw the blood on the floor and nearly passed out. 

"Jon!" Blackwood dropped to the ground next to Sims catatonic body. "Can you hear me?" 

Sims groaned and went to sit up. 

"Careful, careful, it's okay. Jon, what happened?" 

"Magnus, we- His eyes." Sims opened his fist and held it out to Blackwood. Jon almost gagged. 

Two eyeballs sat in the palm of his hand, viscera leaking through his fingers. 

Blackwood had simply nodded and pulled out a handkerchief. He took the _eyeballs_ (god, Jon wanted to sleep) and carefully wrapped them up, concealing their sickening green irises from view. 

Sims' stare found Jon. He nodded, and Jon felt a strange rush of relief. He was okay, they were okay, everything was-

"Tim, I need you to call an ambulance." 

Sasha's voice startled him out of his thoughts. She was knelt next to Elias, covering his eyes, or the place where his eyes had been, with a cardigan (Jon's cardigan, he'd been looking for that).

"What, why? Are you hurt?" Tim crouched down next to her. 

"I'm fine. It's Elias." She said. "He's still breathing." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skipable discussion of jon's self doubts starts at "Be quiet." and ends at 'Jon sagged slightly.' 
> 
> only one more chapter to go, dear readers, what more trauma can i put them through 
> 
> in my notes i wrote for this chapter i put 'your eyes, hand em over' 
> 
> i'm not posting this at midnight!!! are we proud of me actually writing my chapters on time?!?


	12. Chapter 12

_ "Hello Jonah."  _

_ "You- who are- how?" _

_ The stranger wearing Jon's face smiled. "What's the matter? Can't you See?"  _

_ Jonah blinked at him, head pounding. Even here, in his Panopticon, his throne room, he was blind. This man had taken his Sight.  _

_ "You're the one who has been interfering with my archives."  _

_ He chuckled. "You could say that." _

_ "What are you doing here?" _

_ "The Watchers Crown."  _

_ Jonah stared at him. How did this man know his plans? How could he- _

_ "Oh."  _

_ The mans smile wasn't kind. "Indeed."  _

_ "So it worked?" Jonah stumbled closer. He needed to see, to view the majesty that was his creation. "I did it." The mans hand reached out and gripped Jonah's elbow to stop him falling. He stared into his eyes and saw the depth of knowledge in them. "You're the Archivist." _

_ "No, Jonah." He said. "I'm the Archive."  _

_ Another bout of agonising Darkness swept through Jonah. He buckled. The Archive let him fall, crumpling to his knees in mock reverence. Jonah glared at Sasha where she stood next to his corpse, holding the artefact currently blocking his Sight. How dare she interfere with this? _

_ "Archive," He ground out through his teeth. "Kill her."  _

_ The Archive laughed. "No, I don't think I will."  _

_ He gazed up at him, trying to see past the shadows curling around his vision. "She is trying to take it all from us." _

_ "She's trying to take it all from  _ you _. There is a difference." _

_ "But-" _

_ "Did you ever stop to wonder what I would become? After I completed your ritual, what did you think would happen to me?"  _

_ Jonah frowned. A king needs servants and the Archive was his, wasn't it?  _

_ The Archive smiled again, slowly, as if savouring a good meal. "I never served you, Jonah." _

_ "You're my Archive." He knew he was shouting. "I made you."  _

_ "You broke me. You put me on the path towards ruin. You took me and turned me into a monster, and you know what the best part is?" The Archives scoffed. "The Eye prefers me. You gave it the perfect vessel. It let me walk freely in that world. It protected me and the ones I cared about, it led us towards you because you had never wanted to serve it. You served yourself. You wanted power and the Eye was merely a convenient way of getting it. It wanted me to stop you."  _

_ Jonahs hands trembled as he reached for him. The Archives towered over his kneeling form, eyes full of pitying rage. "Killing me will only hurt them. You know you can't-" _

_ "I'm not going to kill you."  _

_ Hope, horrifying and desperate. "What are you going to do to me?"  _

_ The Archive knelt, resting his hands on Jonah's cheeks, thumbs tracing the soft skin under his eyes. "I'm going to take everything from you."  _

-

Consciousness came slowly, leaking through the fog in Elias' mind. The sounds of machines came first, then the feeling of the blanket over his legs, then the sound of paper. 

"Hello?" The words scratched at his throat. 

"Hello Elias." The voice was the same as the one from the dream. 

"Where am I?" 

"In hospital. What was the last thing you remember?" 

Elias sighed. "Magnus."

The voice hummed. "He's gone."

"Dead?"

"In a way." 

Elias tried to move his arm. His face felt itchy, like something was pressing down on it. 

"Careful." Someone grabbed his hand. "Don't." Elias let him lower his hand. "The nurses said to leave the bandages on. I'm sorry, I tried to do it as cleanly as possible, but there was some damage. He wouldn't stay still." 

Cleanly... Stay still...

His eyes. 

Elias thrashed, trying to roll off the bed. He needed to get to a mirror, he needed to see for himself. 

The man grabbed his shoulders, trying to pin him too the bed. "Martin, I need some help, he won't-" 

The door opened and then another set of hands were on him, pulling his hands away from the bandages covering his eyes. 

They held him until he stopped trying to resist, and then held him as he sobbed, the tears soaking into dressings. 

A long while later, he woke up again without even realising he'd fallen asleep. 

He could hear two voices murmuring to each other. One cut off mid-sentence. 

"You're awake." The Archive. That was what Jonah had called him. Jon. 

"Why did you do this to me?"

Jon sighed. "To be honest, I didn't think you would survive without his eyes. I thought you were long dead."

"What did you do with them?" 

"We're holding onto them." Another voice. Martin. "We don't know what destroying them will do to the Institute, we don't want to take any risks." 

Elias nodded. He felt so tired. Being able to move his own limbs again felt like a herculean task and his head pounded. 

"Sleep." Of course the Archive knew. "You've earned the rest." 

"What happens now?" Elias gripped the thin hospital sheets. "What do I do?" 

"The Institute is still in your name." Jon said. "A lot of the employees have quit and the majority of the donors have pulled out, but it's still standing. You could go back to work there, turn it into something good, or you could sell it and wash your hands of all this."

The offer was tempting. Elias had spent twenty years being dragged around, watching his own body commit atrocities, unable to stop them. He'd felt his hands kill people, he'd had his eyes pulled out of his head twice, he'd been the host, the puppet of a madman who, if the Archive was telling the truth, would've succeeded in ending the world.

But then, if he left, another monster would take his place. Another creature wanting to suck the fear out of people like some sort of horrific fear-eating vampire. 

"I can't leave, can I?" 

The Archive let out a deep breath. "You could. It won't fix anything, not even for you, but you could."

Elias scoffed. "He spent so long trapping people in the Institute, and now that he's gone he still gets the last laugh." He turned his head to where the Archives voice came from. "If I offered it, would you take it? It is you, after all."

Martin made a small noise and Elias heard fabric rustling. The Archive went very quiet. 

After a long time they spoke again. "If you offered, I could take control of the Institute. But that wouldn't separate it from the Eye. It would remain a place ruled by fear, designed to feed the Beholding." 

"But I would be free." 

"Yes."

Elias lifted a hand to the bandages, running his fingers along the edge of the tape holding them to his cheeks. _Take the freedom_ , some small part of him said, _be yourself again_. "If I take control, or keep it I guess, can I make it good? Can I help people?" 

"That's up to you, Elias." Martin said. 

Elias couldn't remember the last time someone had said his name and actually meant him. 

He took a deep breath. 

"Let me think about it." 

-

Jon was on his feet as soon as Sims shut the door to the hospital room. 

"Is he okay?"

"He's asleep again. He has a lot to think about, he deserves the rest." 

Martin put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "He'll be fine. The doctors said he was actually quite lucky, remember?" 

"Lucky and okay are different, Martin." 

"He is okay." Blackwood held up a hand. "We need to give him some time, that's all."

Sims gathered his coat and bag. "I'm going to come back tomorrow. I don't want to pressure him." 

"Right, yes, he deserves the rest. I understand." Jon sighed. 

Blackwood linked his arm around Sims. "We are going to be late. You know how estate agents can be." 

"Yes, alright. Goodbye, you two."

Martin looked between them. "Are you leaving?" 

"The hospital, yes. This timeline," Sims shrugged. "I don't think we can. We've done what we came here to do and now our future is gone. We thought it best if we stick around for a while." 

"So the estate agent.." Jon trailed off. 

"We're looking into getting a flat." Blackwood smiled. "Something a bit more permanent than the break room sofa." 

"And more comfortable." Sims bumped their shoulders together. "Peter Lukas is very generous, especially when he has no idea that he's giving his money away." 

Blackwood snorted. 

Jon fidgeted slightly. It was still strange to see them be so... domestic.

"Come one, standing around and talking will only make us more late." Sims shooed Blackwood along. 

"Right, right sorry. We'll see you soon."

"If you need help moving, you know who to ask." Martin smiled at them both. 

They vanished down the corridor, with Sims wrestling to get and umbrella out of his bag. 

Jon glanced over at Martin and found him looking back. "Ah, big week." 

"Yes!" Martin nodded quickly. 

Jon shifted his weight. It was frustrating how difficult it was to talk to Martin without sounding like an idiot. "You, ah, you still staying with Tim?" 

"Yeah. The archives didn't really feel like home, you know?"

"I imagine not." 

Martin let out a small laugh. 

A huddle of nurses passed them, chattering away about office birthday parties and gossip about who liked who. 

"Well, I-"

"Coffee?" 

Jon blushed. "Ah, I don't like coffee."

"No, I meant- drinks? We talked about getting drinks and it's midday so I thought a pub wouldn't be a good idea, but there's this little coffee shop around the corner that I used to go to whenever- It doesn't matter, it's just quite nice." 

Jon nodded slowly. "That sounds lovely."

Martin beamed. "Fantastic." He gestured down the corridor. "Shall we?"

"Let's." Jon set off, trusting Martin to keep up. He fell into step beside him perfectly, and together they wandered down the corridors until Jon couldn't take it any longer. "Is this a date?"

"What?"

"Just, we talked about getting drinks and a coffee shop seems like quite a date-like activity. But if you would rather that this were simply a platonic coffee with a friend, then I am more than happy to-"

"It's a date." Martin spluttered. "I'd like it to be a date." 

Jon blinked at him then blushed furiously. "Good. Good, I'm glad. It's a date." As they walked, Jon felt Martin's hand bump his and he awkwardly took it, linking their fingers together. "Is this okay?"

Martin looked like he was dancing on clouds. "More than." 

Later, when Martin offered to show him a park near Tim's flat, Jon didn't even think about taking his hand. He just did it, purely out of instinct. 

They would never be Sims and Blackwood. But he was happy for them to be Jon and Martin. 

All the rest could wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for reading, this fic has been so much fun to write 
> 
> to everyone who has commented, you're all the most wonderful people on the planet and i sincerely hope you've enjoyed. i have another fic starting very soon, chapter 1 is almost finished, so if you've enjoyed this, keep an eye out! you might like that too!   
> or maybe read one of my other fics! i'm quite proud of all of them!!
> 
> if you've made it this far through the notes, then surprise! this technically isn't the last chapter. i do have a bonus chapter coming out soon, it's a cut portion of this chapter that felt a little out of place but is still very good and i think people will very much like it 
> 
> thank you all so much for reading, love you all lots,   
> oak 💜💜


	13. Chapter 13

** 18th October, 2018 **

"Sorry I'm late!" Tim shook warmth back into his hands. "You know how the tube is." 

"It's alright, you're still on time." Blackwood waved them down the corridor. "Go on, everyone's in the kitchen."

Tim found them all sat around the kitchen table laughing. Jon waved at him and pulled out the chair next to him, gesturing for Tim to sit. On his way past, Tim planted a kiss to the top of Sasha's head. She chuckled and punched his arm lightly. 

"What have I missed?" 

"Nothing much." Sims said. "Martin was just telling us about the guy at his most recent poetry night who hit on Jon."

Jon grinned. "Apparently I have big 'divorced dad' energy. He legitimately asked if one of my kids was in the under 16s category."

Tim snorted. "I can see it." 

"I'm still not over them thinking you were Jon's dad." Blackwood sat down next to Sims. "I know you're going grey but that was a bit much." 

Sims gave him a fond smile. 

A timer on the counter went off and Blackwood stood, opening the oven. Sims cleared a space in the centre of the table to let Blackwood put down a steaming pasta bake. 

"That smells amazing!" Martin leant forward to peer at the dish. 

"I'll send you the recipe, it was really simple." Blackwood offered. "Right, plates."

He dished it out, loading the plates. As they ate the conversation continued, swapping anecdotes and stories, laughing at jokes. 

When they finished, Jon helped Blackwood clear the table. They bought out a bottle of wine and Tim sat back to watch his friends chatter away. Slowly, Sims started to get quieter, glancing towards the windows. He stopped offering comments, letting the others continue the conversation without him.

At some point, he stood quietly, crossing over to the door to the balcony and stepping outside. Tim nudged Blackwood. 

"Is he alright?" 

Blackwood looked at the outline of Sims through the doorway. "He will be. He just needs to check."

"Check what?" Sasha piped up.

"That it's all still real. Excuse me for a moment." Blackwood stood and followed Sims.

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Do you think we should be worried about that?"

-

"Jon?"

"The sky is clear." 

"I know." Blackwood wrapped an arm around his waist. "How much longer?" 

"Two minutes."

"Right around now we were talking about good cows." 

Sims smiled. "It feels like such a long time ago."

"It is a long time ago."

They stood in silence, holding each other, gazing up at the cold October sky, listening to the others steady breaths. 

Two minutes passed. 

Sims tensed suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut. Blackwood pulled him close, holding him tighter to himself until... 

"It's over." Sims let out a shaky exhale. "It's passed."

"Welcome to the future." Blackwood pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

"The sky is still clear." Blackwood could hear the tears in his voice. "Martin, it's all better." Sims wriggled in his arms so he could stare up at him, wide eyes brimming with tears. "We did it." 

"We did." Blackwood gave him a goofy smile and ducked down to kiss him. "We saved the world."

Sims let out a damp laugh, working his fingers into Blackwood's jumper nervously. "Marry me." 

"What?" Blackwood took a step back. 

"Marry me. I know this isn't the most romantic way to ask but I love you." 

"Jon, I-"

Sims immediately shrank back. "I'm sorry, I know we've never really talked about it, I just thought-" He waved a hand at the streets below them. "We just saved the world and if there was ever a time to ask that feels like a pretty good way to-"

"Yes."

Sims stuttered off, blinking at him through his tears. "Yes?"

"Yes, I'll marry you."

A grin split across Sims face. "Really?" 

"Of course. I love you, future Mr Blackwood-Sims."

Sims scrunched up his nose. "Sims-Blackwood, surely."

"Hmm, I don't know."

Sims stood on his tiptoes to kiss Blackwood again. "We can work all that out later. We have all the time in the world now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Author's Note:**

> a time travel au? in this economy?
> 
> the titles is from do re mi from the sound of music  
> 
> 
> come find me on tumblr @illbefunnylater, or @oakleaf--bearer for my writing/tma blog, or on insta @statement_boo_gins  
> i take prompts on all of them, so just let me know any you have
> 
> comments and kudos keep me writing, pls leave some! <3


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